hope for mankind

Burger King has renewed my faith in humanity… almost.

If you are a faithful reader (all three of you) you will know that I haven’t had good luck when it comes to fast food restaurants.

I have had a bad experience with the ranch sauce at Arby’s. Taco Bell is well... Taco Bell. I refuse to eat at Wendy because they have gotten my order wrong more often then they’ve gotten it right. And I’ll only eat at Jack n the Box or Del Taco if I’m in the mood to wait ten to fifteen minuets before getting my food. (Seriously, I have received my food at the Olive Garden faster than that.)

When it comes to Burger King, their hiring usually scrapes the bottom of the gene pool. This is not just a local thing – every Burger King I have eaten at, from Seattle to Sioux Falls, is staffed by a bunch of inbred hillbillies and illegal immigrants. (No offense to any inbred hillbillies and illegal immigrants that might read this post.)

I decided that I was in the mood for chicken fries for lunch today, no chance of them screwing that up, right? I go back to work, sat down in the break room and opened up my to-go bag. Naturally the order was wrong. I ordered a nine-piece, they gave me six.

So, I drove back to Burger King. The manager (eighteen year old kid in a manager’s shirt) was at the cash register. He asked how he could help me and I said…

“I was really looking forward to consuming my dinner and have adequate time to take pleasure in some relaxing conversation with my coworkers. Alas, I am not able to enjoy that longed for banter thanks to your pitiful kitchen staff. I ordered a nine-piece chicken fry, and in case you are incapable of counting, I received only six. My math skills are severely deficient, but last time I checked, that means that you shorted me thirty-three percent of what is due me. I am greatly distressed, not only am I wasting time due to your folly, but I may be tardy in return to my employ. It is this kind of incompetence that is contributing to the degradation of modern society and I will not tolerate it any longer. I demand that you give me what is rightfully mine.”

Not really. What I really said was, “Um... I ordered a number seven, but I uh, only got six fries.”

The boy manager immediately and apathetically apologized and ordered another nine-piece from an older lady working the fryer.

“Um,” I said. “Really, I’ve got six all ready. I only need three more.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says. “I’ll just get you another one.” Seconds later, the other one appeared.

He didn’t even ask for a receipt. Finally, a fast food manager who understands how to care for his customers. I am impressed. Most other fast food managers look at me (and treat me) like it is my fault that they screwed up my order and how dare I attempt to correct their mistake. One of the managers at McDonald's defended his employees with out even a brief apology or explanation of why four people got their food and I’m still waiting.

So here’s to you, goofy looking slightly awkward Burger King manager manchild. Kudos. My hat is off to you. Keep up the good work, your future is bright.

Oh yeah, and uh... thanks.


  1. There are few out there, aren't there!

  2. Definition of oxymoron: Nic and fast food with a successful food order.

  3. It seems to me that you have the same fortunes at restaraunts that your father holds. Indeed, there is folly to be had at these establisments. Sadly, it appears your genetic inheritance attracts the incompetence of others to provide you with the less than satisfactory results in customer service. That said, I thank Mom for her genetic gift of not receiving pathetic service everywhere I go. Nic, better luck next time. I won't be satisfied with your pathetic results though until I hear you tell me a story about it taking 45 minutes to get nachos and a pizza taco from Taco Hell. True story! Gotta love M'ville.