Getting Into An Ordering Pickle

, , , , | Working | August 16, 2016

(My husband and I rarely eat out, but when we do, there are a handful of places we enjoy because we’ve always gotten good service there. One night, we’re both tired from work and don’t feel like cooking, so I offer to stop at [Higher-End Fast Food Chain] to pick up dinner. I’ll say again, we’ve never had a bad experience there before in the four years we’ve been living nearby. When I walk in, there are two cashiers manning the front. [Cashier #1] is a woman about 40 years old; [Cashier #2] looks like she’s probably still in college.)

Cashier #1: “What would you like today?”

Me: “Can I please get a [salad] and a chicken sandwich with lettuce, cheese, and bacon only?”

(I tend to stress the “only” because my husband is pretty picky about food, hence one of the reasons we don’t eat out much.)

Cashier #1: “Sure, your total is [total].”

(I pay and wait. Soon, my name is called. I thank them and step to an out-of-the-way table to check the order. I like to think they’ll get everything right, but we’ve had experiences with other restaurants where they get my husband’s order completely wrong, so I go ahead and check. Everything looks good, until I see pickles on the bottom bun of the sandwich. He HATES pickles.)

Me: *stepping back up to the counter* “Excuse me?”

Cashier #2: *only one at the counter at the time* “Yes, ma’am?”

Me: “I hate asking this, but this sandwich has pickles on it and I asked for cheese, lettuce, and bacon only. If it was mine, I’d just pick them off if I didn’t want them, but my husband really doesn’t like pickles.”

Cashier #2: “No problem! I’ll get a new one made.” *starts typing order into the register for the kitchen* “Would you like to keep the original sandwich, too?”

Me: “Really?”

Cashier #2: “Sure! We’re required to throw it away if you don’t want it.”

Me: “Wow, sure. Thank you!”

(I figure I’ll have it for lunch the next day.)

Cashier #2: *smiles* “No problem. I—”

([Cashier #1] reappears and immediately pounces on [Cashier #2].)

Cashier #1: “What’s wrong? What’s going on?”

Me: *smiling* “Oh, it’s not a huge deal. It’s just there were pickles on my husband’s sandwich and—”

Cashier #1: *interrupts me* “You didn’t say no pickles.”

(I glance at [Cashier #2], who looks as surprised as I am.)

Me: “Well, I said lettuce, cheese, and bacon only. I figured that implied I didn’t want anything else.”

Cashier #2: “It’s okay. I’m putting in the correction.”

Cashier #1: “No, no! I’ll fix it! I’ll fix it!”

(She SNATCHES the original sandwich out of my hand and stomps back to the kitchen. I see her verbally telling the order to the line cook, and then immediately dumping the other sandwich in the trash. I exchange a look with [Cashier #2].)

Me: “I can’t believe she just did that.”

Cashier #2: “Yeah… I’m so sorry.”

Me: “It’s okay.”

(I figure if they get it right this time, I won’t make a big deal about her taking the other sandwich from me after the other girl said I could keep it.)

Cashier #1: *brings me a new sandwich box* “Here you go.” *hands it to me and walks away*

(I want to trust that it’s right, but at this point, I can’t help but check it. The ingredients are correct, but instead of the two or three pieces of bacon normally on the sandwich, there is only one HALF of a piece of bacon. I try to catch [Cashier #2]’s attention, but [Cashier #1] sees and cuts in.)

Cashier #1: “Were you waiting on something else?”

Me: “Look, I promise I’m not a picky person normally, but this sandwich is supposed to have two or three pieces of bacon and there’s only a half of a piece on here. Can I please get another piece or two for it?”

([Cashier #1] gives me a look and goes into the back. She comes back with a little container and hands it to me without another word.  Ready to get out of there, I wave goodbye to [Cashier #2].)

Me: “Thanks again!”

(I get home and start putting our food onto plates. I open the container and there are at least five pieces of bacon stuffed in there, so I put them all on my husband’s sandwich. He sees the pile of bacon on his sandwich.)

Husband: “Whoa! It doesn’t normally come with that much, does it?”

Me: “Be thankful. I fought hard for that bacon.”


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