Over the headset, I heard Lettuce Lady, aka Mrs. Iceberg ordering a tostada. She said she wanted extra lettuce, then started asking for extra of things that aren't on the tostada to begin with. My co-worker tried to explain what all was on the item, but Mrs. Iceberg wasn't having any of it. SHE knew what was most important:
"I want extra lettuce! Because you guys are real stingy with your lettuce! You only put like a tablespoon on and call it good!"
Any more lettuce than normal would really be like ordering a taco salad on a crunchy taco plate.
Man pulls in the the drive thu, finishes his order and wants a drink.
Me: What would you like?
Him: Tall Pepsi
Him: Tall Pepsi
Me: (silence) So...a small?
(silence, as he contemplates what he's said)
Him: Yes, actually
(we both bust into laughter, adversely affecting my menu time quotas)
Me: Starbuck much?
Him: You have no idea.
Man: I want your new burrito combo (It's a HUGE burrito, people. Around 700 calories, surpassed only in the amount of sodium -- more than 3 TIMES the amount of calories! I said this place isn't inherently unhealthy. I didn't say you wouldn't blow up like Aunt Marge and need to be buried in a piano box if you wallowed in the trough of uninhibited consumption...)
Me: And what would you like to drink with tha--
Man: And I want that new quesedilla, the big one (750 calories: cha-chEEENG)
Me: Ok...and what did you want to drink with your combo?
Man: Can you make it an extra large? And since I'm on a diet....I'll take a diet Pepsi!
Me: (confused as to his definition of the words "diet")
Car load of young men comes through. At the menu, they are scatter-brained, can't seem to put a coherent sentence together. They keep saying the wrong thing and giving me the old
"Why is THAT there? THAT'S not what I ordered!"
(Me) "....That's the number one combo that you ordered..."
(Him) "Oh. I didn't mean that one...."
They get up to the window, and it's 4 guys in a teensy li'l old car. And it's obvious that they're all higher than Lawnchair Larry ever made it.
Why, you ask?
Hyper man one says: "This is--this is--that is why I don't do drugs. Ever. I would be, you know, even more messed up--confused by that menu---even now than I am...
Me: Uh huh...
Hyper man two: Hey! What time do you get off? What are you doing when you get off?
Long time readers will know that I have encountered this question before, and with disastrous, yet humorous results.
Seeing as my boss was standing not too far behind me, I decided not to play with the poor drunk boys.
"Midnight, and then off to sleep!" Flash quick smile, hand food, slam takeout window.
Coworker: You should have gotten their numbers!
Coworker: Their numbers! You should have asked for their numbers!
Me: I didn't WANT their numbers....
Boss: You should have asked for their numbers...
Me: I would have liked to play with them...'Would you like some (breath) sauce with that?' <--- in my best seductive voice
Boss and Coworker: They would have given you their numbers...
All these happenings are slowly trying to eradicate the little room in my mind where lives the infamous "Catheter Carl", as some ladies from my church call him. Ah well, there's the good, the bad, and the Carls in every work place.
And now, for some audience participation:
What is the good, the bad, and the Carl where you work? Where you've worked in the past? On your morning commute?