“Two all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions on a sesame seed bun.”
I could rattle that off at McDonald’s when I was a kid. Backwards if I wanted to.
“Vente, decaf, non-fat, no whip, iced mocha” was my Starbuck’s rallying cry a decade ago.
Seinfeld’s Soup Nazi famously 86ed customers for lack of selection savvy.
Being prepared with a well-parsed order is the sport of the fast food culture.
Last week I had the distinct displeasure to follow a woman at Subway who clearly didn’t have the playbook.
With five sandwiches to order and despite a list, she couldn’t decide on a single ingredient.
She stared at the bread oven for a minute before pulling the trigger for sourdough.
She demanded olives before meat and tomatoes before cheese. Anyone that has ever seen the standard Subway layout knows this is not efficient.
She insisted that a sandwich be toasted even after it had been wrapped.
A mutiny was brewing in the line behind her. No amount of our toe tapping or sighing was moving her along.
When she was done ordering, er, ordering, we burst into a spontaneous round of applause as she exited.
Ding dong the witch was dead.
We high fived and vowed to be speedy when it was our turn.
Five minutes later I made it to the top of the cue and chirped, “Six inch wheat, turkey, no cheese, no mayo, Dijon, all the veggies, both peppers, oil and vinegar, salt and pepper.”