Relatively Minor
Laughter does not have to come from a major source. It could indeed be … relatively minor.
Patience is a virtue unless you are waiting for a quarter pounder with cheese in a fast-food restaurant.
I entered the West Des Moines establishment in the middle of the afternoon on a weekday. Immediately focused on the menu, I selected my sandwich and placed my order with the staff member behind the counter. She took my payment, informed me that my pickup number was 38, handed me a beverage container, and assured me that my meal would be delivered as soon as it was ready.
I chose Coca-Cola from the self-serve beverage station, because “It’s the Real Thing.” I pulled out a month’s supply of napkins (just in case) and selected a seat at a nearby table. It was past noon. I was hungry enough to eat a four-legged animal and my mouth was as dry as the Sahara. Thankfully, the soda quenched my thirst. I couldn’t wait to sink my teeth into a fresh, hot burger with cheese. And, yes, I ordered fries with that.
Cars streamed past the drive-up window. I noticed those customers received their food in a timely manner. The interior of the restaurant didn’t appear crowded, so my order would be next. Right?
Having consumed one container of “the real thing,” I got up to get a refill. Returned to my chair and waited. Even before I received my quarter-pound patty on a bun, a DoorDash delivery guy – the superhero of fast food – burst on the scene, gathered his orders, and left in a flash.
By this time, my patience was inching toward the end of its rope. Although empathetic, I realized the eatery may be short-staffed. I wondered why cooking a burger and topping it with pickles, condiments, and a side of fries took so long.
Where was number 38? Did they misplace my order? Were the kitchen personnel even aware of my presence?
After 40 minutes of waiting, I already lost my virtue. It was time to take matters into my own hands. Frustrated, I confronted the woman who took my order and asked if there was a meal for number 38. She, in turn, questioned one of the kitchen employees regarding the preparation of a quarter pounder. The clueless expression on her face said it all. The two women apologized profusely. I returned to my seat and continued to kill time.
Moral of the story. Good things come to those who wait and wait and … Finally, 45 minutes later, that quarter pounder with cheese never tasted so good. The ladies even offered me a free strawberry or apple pie as a lovely parting gift.
www.wintersetmadisonian.com
Member of the Iowa Writers Collaborative
You surprised them by actually coming inside to order - that's a sign of bygone days.