As I waited in line at Wendy’s, anxious to order my Homestyle Chicken Burger meal I was surprised to meet a Good Samaritan.
I was with my roommate Andrew who has recently been looking for work as a software engineer…I think. (Well he’s doing something with computers, and software engineer sounds as good as anything) While we waited I made a negative comment about George W. Bush. The man in front of us perked up, clearly very happy to insult the moronic leader of the United States of America. I would later find out his name was, and still is I’m sure- Brice. Brice and I made chit chat about how happy we are to be Canadians and not Americans. We spoke of how bad Bush was doing as president, and although neither of us are very well informed of the politics in the USA, we had both seen enough Micheal Moore movies to feel justified in insulting him.
After a few minutes of discussion somehow he got the impression that my friend Andrew and I weren’t doing very well financially. Maybe it was my nappy hair, or it could have been the fact that I told him I was going to try to get some free Junior Bacon Cheeseburgers in restitution for the stale buns I received the day before. Nonetheless he told us as we approached the front of the line
“You guys seem like good people, tell you what, it’s on me!”
Of course we tried to refuse at first, because we could both easily afford to buy our own meals, but he was quite adamant on buying our food. So I figured, alright, I’ll do this guy a favor and let him buy me my Homestyle Chicken Burger meal so that he can feel good about himself when he goes to bed tonight. We ate together and Brice told us about his life as a crane operator. We thanked him and left Wendy’s together. Brice unlocked his bicycle clearly not very happy that it was raining and looked a little shocked as we got into Andrews 2003 Jet Black Mustang and roared away, splashing him a little as we drove by.
Once we got home I sat at my computer and was reminded of the inadequate burgers I got the day before. The injustice plagued my mind all night long; I knew what had to be done.
I returned to Wendy’s on a mission to get what I felt was owed to me, two free Junior Bacon Cheeseburgers to compensate for the stale buns I had bought two days prior. I was hesitant about asking for the reparations because the two burgers only have a combined value of three dollars, but I’m a man of my principals so onward I went.
I approached the counter and politely explained my situation to the girl working the till. Unfortunately she did not have the authority to grant me my two burgers but she would get the almighty manager. After waiting five minutes she approached wearing a head set and a gray T-shirt rather than the standard issue blue, green, and maroon vertical striped T. She barked some orders at the grill, clearly on a power trip. Her pin read “manager” and she wore it proudly. I explained to her the heinous situation with my buns, expecting a prompt deliverance of what was rightfully mine. This is when the unthinkable happened. She asked me if I had my receipt! As if I’d keep a receipt for a three-dollar meal at Wendy’s. I explained to her that I left the receipt in a folder at home with the deed to my house and the rest of my financial papers. She failed to see the humor in this statement and instead took advantage of my failure to produce the legal document that bound me to the Junior Bacon Cheeseburgers in question.
“Well there’s nothing I can do if you don’t have your receipt”. She recited as if she’d been saying it over and over in her head.
I was dumbfounded; she thought this was some scam I pull. Going from Wendy’s to Wendy’s collecting free Junior Bacon Cheeseburgers from rookie managers. Well, not on her watch! I stood for a moment trying to think of something witty to say. Then as if sent by the grace of God a man came complaining that he had asked for cheese on his burger. “WHERE’S YOUR RECEIPT??” I asked. Trying to be as obnoxious as possible. “Don’t give him his cheese, he doesn’t have a receipt!!!” While everyone ignored me the diligent employee hastily catered to unhappy customer number two (unhappy customer number one remained ignored, and unhappy). I left vowing revenge.
A couple days later the inevitable happened, I got the hankering for some Junior Bacon Cheeseburgers. I walked to Wendy’s bitter and as a result knew it was likely I would act a fool. It was a different manager working so I ordered as normally as I know how, bitter at myself for falling back into their evil grasp. When I got my order something occurred to me. They didn’t give me a receipt!
“Where’s my god damn receipt!” I barked.
Startled, the girl printed me a receipt. This seemed strange to me, I wasn’t interested in getting a receipt. I was simply gathering evidence to back up my case. I calmly retorted to her bizarre reaction to my reasonable anger.
“I don’t want a receipt,” I said.
This puzzled her a little.
“I want to know why I didn’t get one”. I tried to clarify.
She told me that they don’t give receipts unless asked.
How could that bitch have asked me for a receipt when they don’t even give you one? Am I supposed to plan ahead in fear of getting defect burgers?
“Beautiful, tell the manager that was working here two days ago that I’m coming for her, and my cheeseburgers”.
As I was leaving the store, very proud of the progress I’d made, the girl called out “you forgot your receipt”.
The hypocrisy of the stale burger buns was never resolved due to the ignorant manager quitting. Wendy’s never released her reasons for relinquishing, but we all know why she did what she did, probably wondering the whole time how some smelly snowboard bum got the best of her.
