Now That’s McService!

Joelle said at some point on July 17, 2007

So, a few weeks ago, I swung through the McD’s drive-thru for some ungodly reason and ordered a mushroom burger. I get it home and it’s raw inside.  Annoying, yes, so I call up the joint and give them my beef, so to speak.  Jennifer the Manager puts my name on a list to get a replacement for free the next time I come by.  I rarely eat at McDonald’s (especially since the McBone incident), so it’s taken me this long to cash in on that.  I was at the post office yesterday and with McD’s right there, I hit the drive-thru to get my freebie.

I told them at the speaker that my name was on a list, but they put me on hold to get someone else. A couple minutes later someone else comes to the speaker and I give my order again.  Then I pulled forward to the second window where I’m greeted by an extremely snot-faced girl with her hair greased so tight into a ponytail she looked permanently surprised.  She also sported that little curl of fringe in front like she hairsprayed it and then used the curling iron.  Her lipstick was a lovely shade of frosted raw porkchop, lined in what could only be described as dried blood.  And I kid you not, her name tag said “Quanshunta”. 

“Mmmkay, that’ll be… uh.... $6.48,” she said, as though I just had just awakened her from a coma.

I replied, “Oh… I’m on Jennifer’s list?  This sandwich is just a replacement...” Her blue airbrushed talons came jutting out the window, dangling the white McDonald’s sack and she said, “OK, fine. Here!” as though my dialogue is keeping her from dealing with pressing matters of State.

Visibly holding a five dollar bill in my hand, I quickly said, “In the confusion, I’d forgotten to say I’d like to add on a Diet Coke —” but before I could finish, she cuts me off.

“We’re out of that,” she said, without missing a beat.

“Oh, I see.  Well, I’m willing to pay for it.... Wait, you’re out of Diet Coke?” I said, a bit confused.  “Are you really out of soda or are you just saying that so you don’t have to turn 45 degrees, stick a cup under a spout and press a button?”

I haven’t seen an eyeroll that over the top since I was in junior high.  “Whatever!” she sighed and waved her hand, dismissing me.

I pulled away, muttering not-fit-to-print obscenities about her virtue under my breath and decided that not only was I no longer hungry, I didn’t trust that burger one bit.  Quanshunta had “I spit in your food” written all over her.  It could have been perfectly fine, but I wasn’t willing to risk it.

I’ll make my own mushroom burger. It’s better anyway.  Damn you, Quanshunta. *shakes fist*