HUNGRY JACKS

One morning last week I rang my son and asked if he would like me to get a take away for lunch from Hungry Jack’s. He said he’d love one as long as it didn’t contain tomatoes. I pulled into the Hungry Jack’s drive-through and studied the menu board. Everything had tomatoes and I was beginning to panic as the queue of lunching motorists drove up behind me. The intercom spluttered and crackled and said “place your order.”

I hadn’t made up my mind but the impatient lunchers behind me combined with my unfamiliarity with the process accelerated my decision. “Double Whopper Meal Deal and a Vegetarian Baguette Meal Deal please, I stammered.”

“Sorry, sir, we have no soft drinks,” the voice said. I replied that I wanted a Double Whopper Meal Deal and a Vegetarian Baguette Meal Deal and I hadn’t asked for a soft drink, thank you.

“Drive to the first window,” she said.

As I reached the first window, a charming young lady greeted me with, “Do you still want the Meal Deals, sir, because we have no soft drinks.” Now I don’t mind telling you I was getting a tad irritated by her obsession with soft drinks, not to mention that the tail back had caught up with me and was building ominously. This is when my usual charisma deserted me!

“I already told you, my dear, I want a Double Whopper Meal Deal and a Vegetarian Baguette Meal Deal. I didn’t ask for soft drinks. You are deliberately confusing me. I don’t come to these places very often, in fact, young lady, hardly ever. Now kindly serve my Double Whopper Meal Deal and a Vegetarian Baguette Meal Deal and let’s be having no more of your soft drinks. Thank you.”

That’s when she burst into tears, clearly distressed by something. “What’s ailing you?” I asked, concerned.

“Sir,” she snuffled, “I am only trying to help you. You asked for meal deals and are entitled to a soft drink with each.” This conversation was difficult to follow as she shuddered and shook with sorrow. “But as we have no soft drinks,” (here she goes again!) “I was about to offer you two orange juices in compensation.”

“Oh, I am sorry, so sorry, Chantelle,” I grovelled, glancing at her name badge (a skill honed at countless conferences and government seminars). Please forgive me, I didn’t mean to upset you. I just don’t understand these-drive through thingies. I would be delighted to accept your orange juices.”

I think she was getting over this little debacle when the car behind gave a friendly little blast on its klaxon. Helpfully three others joined in. I was Chantelle’s noble defender now: “Can’t you fellows see the child is upset? For God’s sake give her a break. Would you like to have to put up with morons all day, every day?” That shut them up!

Chantelle handed me the two paper sacks (a trifle roughly, I thought) containing the Meal Deals and a brace of orange juices.

As I pulled away, I could hear Chantelle: “Have a nice day, sir.” She sniffled.

© Chris Skelding 2005