No Wait, I'll Take What She Has....

Working in a fast food EMPORIUM is totally different than fine dining.
Yesterday, while standing next to a new trainee on an antiquated computer system, he motioned me over.

Working on a computer that is from the DOS era doesn’t help. It’s not POS as most establishments. Therefore if someone changes an order, even for something as simple as “adding cheese” one has to scroll up and totally erase the order and start from scratch.

“I’ll take what she had,” a young man in a ratty t-shirt mumbled as he approached the register.

“Who’s that?” asked Miller the new trainee.

Wrong question. How could anyone know what SHE ate, let alone this teenage boy standing in front of his register.

Now there was no way in a packed house of a million and one ways to order a simple sandwich could anyone figure out what “she had” as “she” had finished her meal.

I had noticed the table they all were sitting in, amongst throngs of other tables, most being our regulars that work in the area and dine here, as well as many more of teenagers who had a half day of high school before summer break.

After I had completed several orders, I stepped over to Miller’s register as I saw him having difficulty with this particular customer, and motioned the teenage young lad over to my register.

The line was getting longer, and I figured I could enter his meal faster than a newbie struggling with a DOS register.

Having been trained on DOS in the mid 80’s, and being able to let alone read hyper text transfer protocal and mark up language code, I considered showing up for work with Tylenol in my pocket. Instead I opted for gum, feeling like Flo from the "Alice" TV show.

I asked, “Do you know what she ate?”

He looked over to the table of his friends, trying to figure it out. The process of him turning his head and gazing over twenty feet away seemed to take place in slow motion. Something as simple as asking HER what it was she was eating never crossed the large domain of his mind.

“Well,” I interrupted his revere & confusion about the meaning of life I asked, “what would YOU want?”

“Ummm,” he said slowly, “a combo.”

“A Beef and Sausage combo?” I slowly asked, mainly because most people order in this way thinking they are getting a “combination meal” which includes a side and a drink, as opposed to how it’s written on the menu in plain English that a Beef and Sausage combo is EXACTLY that.

“Yes.”

I punch in Beef and Sausage combo, wondering why Miller couldn’t do just that.

“Did you want any Cheese or Peppers on that?” I ask automatically, as it’s a normal question for any of our customers.

“Uh….No.”

“Ok, a Beef and Sausage combo plain,” I repeat his order and then he quickly interrupts me.

“No, I mean I want a Beef sandwich,” he says as though trying to convince himself.

At this point I think of Napoleon Dynamite. I scroll up to highlight and hit void to clear the screen, then punch in Beef sandwich.

“Okayyyy…..A Beef sandwich. Did you want any Cheese or Peppers on the Beef?” I ask as a list of choices pop up for me to maneuver through before I can go on to complete the order and accept payment.

“Wait, that’s a Beef and Sausage sandwich?”

“No, you said just a Beef sandwich,” I reply wondering if this kid was on some type of drugs. Valium comes to mind.

“I want a Beef and Sausage sandwich,” he states with conviction. He MADE a decision about his outlook on life. This is GOOD.

“Are you sure?” I ask smiling as we are always TOLD to smile and pleasant. It’s a HOP TO type of establishment, GO GO GO, almost like a football team. At times I think this corporate owned restaurant should employ robots or Stepford employees.

“Yes.”

“Ok, a Beef and Sausage sandwich,” I repeat as I scroll up, hit void and punch the order in AGAIN. The lunch line is increasing with frustrated people who are on a time limit. I consider calling someone over to the third register, and glance over to the managers and expediters who are slammed enough. I look over to Miller, and while fresh out of training, he’s flying through the orders like a pro. I decide to listen with an extra ear to his repartee with the customers, and occasionally step over to punch through any special orders so we can speed things along, keeping a log in MY mind on how to tell him to do weird things, and what to call out, etc., for later.

“That doesn’t have any Sausage on it does it?” he asks.

Having a quick brain fart as I deal with this teenager, I reply, “Well, yes, all Beef and Sausage sandwiches have BOTH Beef AND Sausage.” What a dumb question. That’s like asking if Spaghetti and Meatballs has Spaghetti in it.

“What kind of Sausage?”

“Italian Sausage.”

“Do you have any other types of Sausage?” he asks slowly, muddling about his brain as though he’s making a major decision in life like purchasing a car with a CD stereo or just an AM/FM radio.

“Well, we have a Maxwell Street Polish Sausage if you prefer. A LOT of people order that. It’s our number one seller,” I state hoping to move this guy along.

Now granted, there are some people that come here who have never dined in this establishment, however, something as simple as ordering Beef, or Italian, or Polish Sausage sandwiches is pretty much a no brainer, but I digress, as obviously this kid IS a no brainer. The thought of him being put up to confusing us at the register as a dare by his friends crossed my mind, but as I looked out over the dining room, I saw his friends beginning to get up and leave. They were not watching him, so his shenanigans was not a ruse, but rather just something inherent in his psychology.

He had a possible political career in front of him.

“I’ll take that,” he said again with conviction.

“A Polish Sausage then?”

“Yes.”

I scrolled up yet again, highlighted, voided, and entered Polish sandwich. Any Beef, or Italian Sausage or Beef and Sausage combo’s pretty much just come up and don’t need to be called out over the microphone to the kitchen. Polish Sausage sandwiches did need to be called as they are char-broiled, and took a few more minutes.

“Polish,” I call into the microphone for the kitchen to get on it.

“And a Beef,” he said.

“Did you still want a Beef sandwich?” I ask as no matter what he ordered, he seemed stuck on the Beef sandwich routine.

“Yes, the Beef and Sausage sandwich,” he replied.

“So, you want Beef with the Polish Sausage sandwich instead of the Italian Sausage?” I asked confirming, as now this would be a special order.

Seconds turned into minutes, and minutes turned into hours, hours into days, and days into years, as he digested his yet un-eaten sandwich in his mind.

Finally after I celebrated my 80th birthday…..

“You can do that?” he asked incredibly.

“Yes, if you prefer.”

“Well does the Polish Sausage have Pork in it?”

My God, I think. “Yes,” I reply grinning at him.

“I’ll take that then.”

“Okay, just the Polish Sausage? Or the Beef with Polish Sausage on it?”

“Yes.”

“Which one?”

“Which one what?” he asks.

“Did you want ONLY the Polish Sausage sandwich OR a Beef sandwich WITH Polish Sausage?”

“The Beef and Polish Sausage sandwich,” he replies.

I talk into the microphone, “Forget the Polish, make that a Beef AND Polish TOGETHER.”

I turn back to him and ask, “Would you like Mustard and Grilled Onions on it?”

“Is that the way it comes?” he asks blindly.

“You can get it without if you like.”

“Ok,” he says.

“Well, WITH Mustard and Onions or plain?”

“Uhhh, WITH both of them,” he says.

“Make the Beef and Polish together WITH Mustard and Onions,” I say into the microphone.

“Oh, well, I don’t like Mustard or Onions.”

“Make that Beef and Polish PLAIN,” I state into the microphone, and then as a quick afterthought, I said, “sorry.”

“Ok, then just a Polish sandwich plain? Or put together with Beef?”

“No, I want what she was eating,” he mumbles as he looks around.

JUST WHAT IS THIS DRUG THAT CONFUSES A SIMPLE ORDER???!!!!???

“Forget the Beef and Polish put together,” I state into the microphone, then scroll up, highlight and void. The kitchen must hate me. Now I know I could have just rushed him along, and given him a COMBO, but if he opened the sandwich and examined it, he may return it to the counter and confuse them which would trickle back down to me and how I didn't know how to enter a simple item in the computer (ahhh DAH) and how ONE SANDWICH had to be sacrificed to the garbage bin. Let's just put it this way, it's better to be perfect and get it absolutely correct than have to deal with 2 or more managers commenting on a return (even from this teenager) and making an issue out of it. I plugged on....

“Well, could you possibly ask her what she was eating? That would help,” I state.

“Oh, well, she left,” he said as he did the slow motion move of looking over to the dining room and then back at me again. In the time it took him to do this, I could have cleaned my house and done two loads of laundry.
AND my nails.

La deee deeeee deeeee deeeeee……

“Well….mmmm….what would you like then?” I ask interrupting his Einstein approach towards life.

“I guess a Beef sandwich.”

“No Sausage whatsoever then?” (I need to confirm this COHERENT thought)

“Right, no Sausage,” he said slowly.

“Ok, then, anything put onto the Beef sandwich?” I ask as I hit Beef sandwich again and look at toppings.

“Well, like what?”

“Well, like, you can have it juicy, or with Cheese, or even with Peppers,” I say.

“How do most people have it?” he asks with a straight face.

I look at him, and decide that no, he’s not on drugs, he’s just stooo-pid.

“They order it with Cheese and Peppers.”

“I’ll take that,” he says convinced, shaking his head up and down. Yeah, yeah, that’s it.

“Did you want hot Peppers or sweet Peppers?”

“What are sweet Peppers?” he asks. “I don’t like Sugar.”

“There’s no Sugar in it. Like green Peppers, they’re mild.”

“No, I’ll try the hot Peppers on my combo,” he says.

“Wait,” I reply, “you said you didn’t want the Sausage.”

At this point Miller interjects, “Well, I think she got the Beef and Sausage Combo.”

I could have kicked him. He smiled wickedly. I could only chuckle.

“Well, I want that then if that’s what she ordered,” the teenage guy says.

“That’s what she ordered,” Miller said with a straight face.

“Then that’s what I want,” he said.

I scroll up, highlight and hit void and enter Beef and Sausage combo, thinking that THANK GOD I didn’t mention Red Sauce.

“Ok,” I say exhausted, “I’ll have them put the hot Peppers on the side then. Now, do you want this for here or to go?”

Oh my God, MORE choices!!!!

“I want to eat it.”

Ahhh DUH!!! “Yes, sir, I understand, but would you like to eat it here, or take it home with you?”

“I’m not going home.”

“Ok, then you’ll want to dine here, right?”

“Yes, I want to eat it here.”

“Okay, one Beef and Sausage COMBO, with hot Peppers on the side for here. Anything to drink, or would you like a side?”

YET more choices. At this point, I can only attest to my having to walk to work, thinking along the way that I needed more ZIP in my life, more interesting things to happen to me. I wondered if THIS was IT, and if so, WHY MEEEEEE?

“Aside?” he asked. “aside of what?”

So, he does know the difference between ASIDE and A SIDE. I laughed out loud. Maybe this was his own trumped up dare to see how far he can push the envelope with a straight face.

Being told by management to push our sides, I reply, “Our sides are soup, salad, chips, fries, or chili, with a fountain drink.”

“A water fountain?” he asks raising his eyebrows IN YET what could be even more confusion.

“No, like a pop, or iced tea, or coffee, or lemonade.”

“I’ll take the Chili…and I guess something to drink,” he says.

“Would you like Cheese or Onions on the Chili?” I ask, thinking, yet more choices.

“Oh, I don’t like Cheese!!!” he clearly states.

Ahhhh, a young man with an abhorrent dislike of dairy.

At this point I have to YET AGAIN scroll up and void the Beef and Sausage COMBO, and delete the Cheese off of it, and begin to enter it again. I finally arrive at my Chili choices.

“So, any onions?” I ask.

“No, I didn’t order the Polish Sausage because it came with Onions,” he said, still stuck on five minutes ago.

“I will tell them to NOT put any Onions on your Chili. Here’s your cup for your drink,” I reply handing it over to him, knowing that if I don’t enter ONIONS, there will BE NO ONIONS.

“But there’s nothing in it,” he says as he actually looks INTO it. Ahhhh, the wonders of being HIGH.

“You have to go to the fountain, umm, the POP MACHINE over there, and fill it up,” I said slowly so he could understand, and pointed in the direction.

“Oh…. Okay,” he replies. The thought process of him walking over to the POP MACHINE with a cup, and HOW to do exactly that is written all over his face. One foot in front of the other….step, step, step….

“And that will be…$so much money,” I reply as he walks away. “Young man,” I say loudly, “uh…you have to pay.”

“Oh yeah,” he says as he returns to my register. He counted out singles and gave me a handful of change. Ironically it was exact change. Mmmmmm. Could this be one of those INFAMOUS mystery shoppers? Nahhhh.

“Oh, wait,” he states, “I’ll take that to go.”

“You want to take the sandwich with you?” I ask needing to be sure.

“Yes.”

I had already sent the order to the kitchen, and the expeditor was prepping it all on a tray for an in house service as opposed to packaging it up to go.

“Ok, sir, it’ll be ready in a few minutes. Here is your number, you can pick it up from that lovely gal over there,” I said handing him receipt and pointing clearly to the pick up area.

“Over there?” he asks looking a mere 7 feet away.

“Yes, over there,” I reply, “where the sign says PICK UP.”

“Ok,” he states as he meandered over to the fountain drink machine, staring into his empty cup.

“Oh, and we are hiring by the way,” I tell him.

“You are?” he asked incredibly as though a major occurrence of something simple as A THOUGHT crossed his puzzled brow. I saw the wheels churning, and the marbles lining up in his brain, pushing aside all the rocks.

Having a wicked, wicked sense of humor that so few understand, I quickly envisioned him being trained by the one and only WORST trainer that I after 25 years of restaurant experience have ever encountered. Miller laughed as he KNEW just who I was referring to.

“Yes, I think you’d be a wiz with the menu!! Enjoy your (at this point with most customers, I repeat what they ordered, be it a such and such salad, or such and such paninni, but in this case, I hesitated as I don’t think he even KNOWS what he ordered, and to him it’ll be just FOOD) Uh…enjoy your LUNCH.”

Sheeesh!!!!

Miller laughed. “If he applies, I hope YOU train him.”

“NO friggin way!!” I state. “Besides, I’m just an underling, and haven’t reached the under 21 CLUB CARRYING brown nosed crowd of becoming a TRAIN-or,” I laugh.

“You’d be a great trainer, you were patient with me and I learned a lot from you,” Miller says. “but….if he is hired, it would be nice to see Wanda the Witch who can’t train but only yell do this with him.”

“Poetic justice,” I reply, “besides, I think the application alone would confuse him. I mean, can you imagine the part on the app where it says SEX, where you have to check off if you’re male or female? He would actually ask something like WHEN, or write in virgin.”

I yell over to Stephanie, “hey, ticket number 233 is….” Now I forgot what it was, and I look at my screen. “Right, it’s TO GO”

She shook her head in acknowledgement and prepared the TO GO bag.

“Having fun yet?” asks a regular laughing as he apparently saw the last part of my interchange with the teenager.

“And so far, this with only two cups of coffee!!” I laugh.

We took more orders and I noticed that Stephanie was prepping HIS order on a tray, after talking to HIM again.

“Stephanie, I told you it was TO GO,” I yell across the aisle.

She just looked at me blankly like I was an idiot, or maybe like she had just spoken to an idiot, who knows. At any rate, she handed him the in house tray of his meal.

“Look at that,” I exclaimed to Miller as I watched the young guy leave, “he’s walking out the door with our tray, our bowl, our spoon….”

“He SAID he wanted it to go.”

“Why don’t you dash over there and stop him?” I laughed.