Wendy's and the Theater of the Living
Aug. 27th, 2016 10:08 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kybearfuzzOn Thursday, a couple of co-workers and I went to Wendy's for lunch. I had a hanckering for chili. There are two near our office, one in St. Bernard and one in Hartwell. Normally, I go to St. Bernard, but this time I drove to Hartwell for some odd reason. "Odd" being a key word for what happened. Seriously, I think I took us into an experimental theater for lunch.
When we showed up, the only person working the counter was a little 5-foot tall, 70-something black woman. Incredibly slow and methodical, she was putting together an order for the one customer they had. It took her several minutes to complete the order. She apologized for the delay, stating that she was the only one at the counter. She was doing her best and I was wondering why there were so few people working.
Knowing the three of us were together, she took our orders together. It was taking a while, so I filled up my drink in the meanwhile. I walked past another lady in a Wendy's outfit and a horrible perm just chatting with a customer. By this time, there was a line of people waiting to order, stretching all the way to the door. I couldn't understand why this woman wasn't helping with serving folks and her attitude made me think he was the manager.
While we waited for our order, an elderly black man with apparent vitaligo sitting in a wheelchair scooted up to the counter to get "sweetener" as there wasn't any at the ketchup station. He was in PJ bottoms, a robe, a coat, and a baseball hat with three pairs of sunglasses sitting on top.
My co-workers and I finally got our food and sat down, just in time to see the suspect manager proclaim that she was going to take her break, walking past the line to the door. People were leaving the line to exit and others were arriving to take their place, not realizing the DMV-like hell they were walking into. One customer caught my attention, a gray bearded otter-type daddy with an incredible pelt of fur shown off by his white wife-beater shirt. The poor guy stayed in line the whole time. I felt sorry for him.
The wheelchair guy stopped by our table to ask the time and then ask us what we thought of Trump. He then wheeled himself outside where we saw him smoking with the manager lady on our way out.
Before we left, one gentleman in line who had just gotten his food turned to the line and loudly proclaimed that no matter how bad our lives were, there was always someone like his friend who had it worse. He added that he was allergic to three things -- prison, handcuffs, and bull$#!+.
We finished up and left, walking past the line that had barely moved. On the drive back, we discussed the scene we'd just left, the conclusion being that I was not allowed to pick where we went to lunch on Friday.
When we showed up, the only person working the counter was a little 5-foot tall, 70-something black woman. Incredibly slow and methodical, she was putting together an order for the one customer they had. It took her several minutes to complete the order. She apologized for the delay, stating that she was the only one at the counter. She was doing her best and I was wondering why there were so few people working.
Knowing the three of us were together, she took our orders together. It was taking a while, so I filled up my drink in the meanwhile. I walked past another lady in a Wendy's outfit and a horrible perm just chatting with a customer. By this time, there was a line of people waiting to order, stretching all the way to the door. I couldn't understand why this woman wasn't helping with serving folks and her attitude made me think he was the manager.
While we waited for our order, an elderly black man with apparent vitaligo sitting in a wheelchair scooted up to the counter to get "sweetener" as there wasn't any at the ketchup station. He was in PJ bottoms, a robe, a coat, and a baseball hat with three pairs of sunglasses sitting on top.
My co-workers and I finally got our food and sat down, just in time to see the suspect manager proclaim that she was going to take her break, walking past the line to the door. People were leaving the line to exit and others were arriving to take their place, not realizing the DMV-like hell they were walking into. One customer caught my attention, a gray bearded otter-type daddy with an incredible pelt of fur shown off by his white wife-beater shirt. The poor guy stayed in line the whole time. I felt sorry for him.
The wheelchair guy stopped by our table to ask the time and then ask us what we thought of Trump. He then wheeled himself outside where we saw him smoking with the manager lady on our way out.
Before we left, one gentleman in line who had just gotten his food turned to the line and loudly proclaimed that no matter how bad our lives were, there was always someone like his friend who had it worse. He added that he was allergic to three things -- prison, handcuffs, and bull$#!+.
We finished up and left, walking past the line that had barely moved. On the drive back, we discussed the scene we'd just left, the conclusion being that I was not allowed to pick where we went to lunch on Friday.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2016-08-28 03:43 am (UTC)