Wednesday, March 5, 2008

Wendy's wonderful workers...

Being the health-concious mother that I am, I whipped into the Wendy's drive-thru the other day to grab Hazel a kids meal because we were running short on time. I was running through my mind all the things I needed to do before picking Owen up from school- not the least of which was get Hazel down for a nap!

So- I pull up to the menu board and hear "Welcome to Wendy's, may I help you?" and I proceed to give her my extremely basic, simple order.

"I'd like a kid's meal with a plain cheesburger and.....


"yes, and I would like....


"...I would like french fries and chocolate milk with that"


"......ummm...yes. I want a kid's meal with a plain cheeseburger and french fries and chocolate milk"


(Come on, are you kidding me? Maybe if you weren't screaming over me you could have gotten my order in the 10 seconds it would have taken me to say it.)

"Yep- that's right"

So I pull forward and grab my meal and drive away. Of course, at the first red light (a moment too late) I decide to check my order. What a shock- there are pickles and onions and ketchup and mustard on my 2 yr old's cheeseburger.

So I do a u-turn and go back to Wendy's. I jump out of the car, lock my daughter in illegally (because surely it won't take more than two seconds to hand me two pieces of bread with a slice of cheese and a piece of meat inside) and run inside to ask for the correct sandwich. Hazel is peering over the seat and through the window to see what is taking me so long as they rush around trying to figure out how to solve my problem. I have to hang out by the window watching Hazel because apparently a plain cheeseburger is a little more complicated than I thought. Finally they hand me another sandwich and I run out to the car to give it to Hazel. I unwrap it and start to hand it to her......and it's a CHICKEN SANDWICH WITH LETTUCE AND TOMATO!!!! Are you kidding me? So I march back inside and grab the right sandwich (which the guy is already running out to give me after realizing his mistake) and take it to Hazel. Finally it is the right sandwich and Hazel can stop crying from the trauma of having her sandwich ripped away from her twice in a row.

Then on the way home (driving in anger) I hit a pigeon and looked in my rearview mirror to see feathers flying everywhere and the pigeon continuing to run around in confused circles. Of course I couldn't have hit it hard enough to just put it out of its misery (because the life of a pigeon must be miserable).

By the time I got home, it was too late for Hazel to take a nap before we got Owen from school. So I just decided I would get all my chores done and let her watch a little TV. But apparently all the drama tired her out because I noticed it was really quiet after a while and went in her room to find her in bed asleep, one arm wrapped around her french fries. Poor baby. Her life is so stressful.