It’s Monday and I haven’t had my coffee.
I have a complicated relationship with fast food places.
I actually enjoy eating some of the food at some fast food restaurants:
Wendy’s spicy chicken sandwich & french fries
Burger King’s chicken fries & Big King Burger
McDonald’s Big Mac (sans onion) and “apple pie” desert
Yes, even though I make my own pie from scratch.
Now you know one of my guilty pleasures.
However, taken as a whole, fast food tends to make me feel physically ill.
Given that I’m going to shell out money for food that tastes good now and comes back for revenge later, you’d think they’d at least get my order right. I understand: the American fast food worker is generally looked down on in society. They have a thankless and often disgusting job to do. So I can understand if every once in a while they forget a straw or napkins or fail to ask me if I want ketchup.
But there’s one thing I have a hard time forgiving: missing sauces. If I’ve ordered chicken strips or chicken nuggets or some other dippable chicken product, sauces aren’t just a condiment; most likely, they’re necessary to make the meal remotely palatable. Why do you think the customer gets one free? It’s not because the establishment is run by fine folks (though in many cases they are), it’s because if we have to eat deep fried chicken product, we need something to make it taste halfway decent and make us consider ordering it the next time.
Forgetting sauces ruins not only the meal, but also the entire day/evening, because now I have that disgusting oil-fried chicken product taste in my mouth – and it isn’t honey mustard flavored oil fried chicken product – and I’m reduced to complaining about it on my blog.
And you know what? I saw you making my meal. One person made my drinks, one person got the sides, one person got the chicken, and I distinctly head the woman who passed me my food ask one of you “you put the sauce in, right?” to which one of you little liars answered “yeah”.
The only thing worse than forgetting my sauce is to consistently forget my sauce, napkins, straw, and the side order for which I paid.
I’M LOOKING AT YOU, BOJANGLES!
Thanks for ruining my Sunday night!
See you again next week?
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