I’m taking orders in a drive-thru.

Me: “Welcome to McDonald’s; how can I help you today?”

Customer: “I’d like a McChicken…”

Me: “One McChicken, right.”

Customer: “Some McFries…”

At this point, I start to wonder if he’s joking, since I’ve never heard them called that, but I get him to specify the size and continue.

Customer: “…a McDr.Pepper and a McDietCoke.”

Someone in the seat next to him is laughing, and I’m starting to grin, too.

Me: “Will that be all for you today, sir? All right, that will be Mc5.54 at the first window.”

He and his McFriend both laughed at that and pulled up.

This is the tale of the one and only time I ever actually complained to a corporate establishment. It was summer in the early 2000s — an especially hot one, where every day felt worse than the day before.

Our local [Fast Food Restaurant famous for the ice cream machine always being “down” — you know the one] would NEVER have milkshakes available, no matter the time of day. Lunch rush? Down. Evening? Down. Early morning? Down. And of course, no resolution was ever forthcoming.

Eventually, I got to the point where ALL I wanted was a freakin’ milkshake. It’s SUMMER! It’s HOT! GIVE ME A SHAKE! So, I finally broke down and sent an email outlining my complaint to the corporate offices.

In return, I ended up getting a few vouchers for a free value meal of my choice. I mean… great, but it’s still not a shake. Whatever.

I finally decided to use one of them, and when I went through the drive-thru and presented the voucher, I was subsequently presented with the manager.

Manager: “How did you get this?!”

Me: “I complained to corporate because your ice cream machine has been ‘down’ all summer?”

Manager: “And did you ever think to just talk to me about it?!”

Me: “Well… no. What were you going to do? Make it magically not be down?”

Manager: “Ugh. It’s people like you who make this job not worth it.”

She proceeded to nearly throw my food into the car and “slam” the drive-thru window.

Why would I think the manager was also secretly an ice cream machine mechanic? If the machine was truly broken all this time, that’s terrible service. If it wasn’t, and you just didn’t want to have to clean it later… that’s STILL terrible service!

I work in one of those over-the-top fast food places that you only really find on The Strip in Las Vegas. There are several eating challenges where if you eat a certain amount, then it’s free, and we take your polaroid for a “wall of fame.”

We have an item on the menu that isn’t part of this deal but is equally ridiculous. I can’t say its real name but it’s something like the OCTUPLE-CHEESE QUADRUPLE-PATTY CHEDDAR EXPLOSION. Seriously, it is that ridiculous. Only in America can a heart attack be a challenge, not a fear.

A family walks in, and one of the guys wants to try this cheese explosion. His family sits down, and I bring out their orders. After a few minutes, they call me over.

Customer: “There’s something wrong with my burger.”

Me: *Eyeing the cheese explosion* “What’s that, sir?”

Customer: “There’s not enough cheese.”

I am eyeing the ridiculous cheese-to-literally-everything-else ratio as eight types of cheese meltingly ooze from his burger in all directions.

Me: “That is the… uh… standard amount of cheese that comes with the octuple-cheese quadruple-patty cheddar explosion, sir.”

Customer: “It’s just… I wanted more.”

Me: “Would you like me to—”

Customer: “I’m not paying for this.”

He takes another bite. Cheese oozes further onto his plate.

Me: “If you’d like to order something else, I can take this and—”

Customer: “No, I’ll finish it. I’m just not paying for it.”

Me: “Sir, if you continue to finish the meal, then you will have to pay for it.”

Customer: “Are you [slur for disabled people]? I’m… not… paying.”

As soon as he uses that word, I am done. I get my manager and explain the situation. My manager approaches the table.

Manager: “Excuse me, sir. My waiter told me that you have an issue with your meal?”

Customer: “Yes! I wanted more cheese! I didn’t get the expected amount.”

Manager: “I can also see that you’ve almost finished your meal.”

Customer: “I’m hungry! I’ll finish it, but I won’t be paying for it.”

Manager: “Sir, if you have an issue with your meal, we are happy to replace it provided you haven’t finished it, but if you proceed to finish it, then we will have to charge you for the meal.”

Customer: “Seriously? I am not paying. I made a complaint. Why aren’t you upholding a customer complaint?”

Manager: “Because, sir, you ordered the OCTUPLE-CHEESE QUADRUPLE-PATTY CHEDDAR EXPLOSION burger and thought to yourself, ‘What this needs is more cheese.’”

Customer: “You… You’re making me sound unreasonable!”

Manager: “Am I? I’ll have [My Name] come by with your check.”

He simmered. He finished his meal. He paid. There were huge clumps of cheese left on his plate.

Related:
Seriously Cheesed Off, Part 4
Seriously Cheesed Off, Part 3
Seriously Cheesed Off, Part 2
Seriously Cheesed Off

I used to work at a fast food place. This place let you substitute fries and the drink for various sides, including salad, onion rings, or chips. Yes, you could actually replace the drink with a second side of fries or other substantial food. Few people realized this, but those who did normally wanted a drink anyway, because fast food stuff makes you thirsty.

Customer: “I’ll take [combo].”

Me: “With fries and a drink?”

The guy looks at me like I’ve severely offended him and shoots back snappily.

Customer: “Well, what else would I want?!”

I point to the BIG picture of all the sides immediately above and behind me on the menu.

Me: “You can have any of those things.”

Customer: *Sheepishly* “Oh… yeah, fries and a drink.”

I work at a pasta shop while in high school. When we don’t sell the fresh stuff within a couple of days, we freeze it so it won’t go bad and sell it at a discount, but if there are any frozen ones — which isn’t often — they run out.

A middle-aged man comes in.

Customer: “I want a large frozen lasagne.”

Me: “Sorry, sir, I just checked the freezer and we don’t have any, but if you want, you can get a regular large lasagne and freeze it at home. They freeze pretty well.”

He looks confused for a moment.

Customer: “…no?”

He leaves the store.

About an hour later there’s a call for our manager from a woman. After a minute or two, she comes to talk to us, still holding the phone.

Manager: “Were any of you serving a man who asked for a large frozen lasagne?”

Me: “That was me.”

Manager: *Incredulously* “Did you… laugh at the man and tell him that if he wanted a frozen lasagna to go to [Chain Supermarket]?”

Me: *Laughing* “Uh… no!”

She tells the woman on the phone this, and we can hear the woman (who, by the way, wasn’t ACTUALLY there) yelling at my manager.

Caller: “Are you calling me a liar?!”

Manager: “I’m not, but I have a very hard time believing that one of my girls would do that.”

Caller: *Click*

Manager: “My theory: wife sends husband to get one thing. He gets confused by a sudden limitation of options and leaves but is terrified of his wife and doesn’t want her to get mad at him because he failed to do this one task. So, he tells her some BS in the hopes that she’ll forget about it. She does not.”