Fast Food In Southwest Jackson. . .

I had a rant a while back about the less than stellar service that I received from the McDonald's just around the corner from my office. Since then, I have resigned myself to very low expectations on days like today when convenience outweighs quality in food choice. Yet, I am still perplexed at the terrible level of service that I receive from these establishments.

This afternoon I went to the newly renovated KFC at Highway 80 and J.R. Lynch Street and ordered the #5 from the pictogram menu. Two pieces of chicken, 2 sides, a biscuit and a drink. Easy right?

Wrong!

My order came with ONE piece of chicken.

Not to mention the fact that the person at the window never said a single word to me after completing my order at the speaker.

Now, I don't talk down to people. I was raised to speak respectfully to all people, using ma'am and sir, thank you and no thank you and lastly, please. I'll even waste mini-portions of my days holding doors open for unapologetic types. And what do I get from this twit at the window? Cold stares and not a peep. I even said thank you, knowing that this person would obviously rather shit in my mashed potatoes than issue a word of recognition to me. This, all topped off nicely by stiffing me for a chicken wing.

Now, some might say I'm overreacting. Maybe. But I believe in principles and my principles state that if I am working in a service industry, I am going to try my best to exceed my customers expectations. It just seems logical to me. I've basically been in the service industry my whole life, whether cooking or working here with the fam damily business.

I don't know. I was beginning to think that my hippified appearance may have something to do with it. My hair, my hair. Or more realistically, maybe they are just pissed that they wallow in a lowly service job with little reward, can't speak proper English and are too mindfucked to even give a shit what happens outside their own pathetic little worlds.

Fuck it. I guess it's bologna sandwiches with homemade chow chow from here on out.

Read more...

Never Forget. . .

Nils sent this picture of my old friend Melvin. For those of you who have never met Melvin, you can look here, here and here.



Melvin came to us looking for a job. He spent the first few months working as our jardinero (gardener) and approached me one day with the will and desire to make a better man of himself. He simply wanted to work in the restaurant knowing he could make more money to provide for his family. He knew some English words, but didn't speak English, yet his will to learn was enough for us to give him a shot. He turned out to be the best damn 2nd waiter/barback/bartender we ever had.

The man could literally hear a client's car trundling down the road and would have their favorite beverage of choice sitting at the bar before they could top the stairs. His powers of anticipation were superior to mine, and I'm damn good at it. Servicio supremo!

Melvin has been gone now for over two years. I guess his wife is getting along ok raising their kids. I haven't heard from her in a long time.

Melvin, we all miss you amigo. En paz descanse.

Read more...

When Will I Ever Learnt. . .

Ok, I go to work early and I usually stop by the 24/7 Mickey D's around the corner from the office to grab a biscuit and a cup of joe. I know, it's probably what's adding to my ever-spreading girth, which I'm having a hard time dealing with because I've been rail skinny my entire life, but I blame no one but myself. Ok, I blame Heineken too.

So this McDonald's. I will now refer to it as "the place that can't seem to get their shit together".

At the place where they can't seem to get their shit together, I order. Then I repeat my order. Sometimes I have to repeat my order again. A couple of days ago, they didn't even acknowledge that I was out there at the speaker waiting like a fool for longer than I care to admit. I left. Eventually.

McDonald's has simplified the menu to the point where you no longer have to say anything outside of a number or size and I'm sure this is to accommodate our ever sagging collective intelligence in America.

My usual order, because I am a creature of habit goes like this:

Unhappy McDonald's Employee: Can I get yo otter?

ME: Yes please, I would like a number three with a medium orange juice and a large black coffee please, thank you.

Unhappy McDonald's Employee: What?

ME: Yes please, I would like a number three with a medium orange juice and a large black coffee please, thank you.

Unhappy McDonald's Employee: What was dat?

ME: Gimme dat numba tree wit a unggge joose and a large cawfee.

Unhappy McDonald's Employee: Dat'll be $4.29, dri up.

I'm not making this up. If I were, I'd be a bigot. Sadly, this is the hard truth.

The epiphany I had in that moment of frustration has led to a little experiment. I am trying my new found language at other restaurants in Jackson. . .well, mostly at the restaurants where communicating through a speaker is the norm.

At the Popeye's, I no longer politely ask for the crispy two piece chicken meal with a biscuit please.

I bark: Gimme dat two peas criss wit a bisit. And I no won't no drank.

Then I drive up and get curious looks from the staff as I return to the Queen's English my mother forced on me as a child. I'm almost certain my food gets doctored from time to time, but I'm willing to sacrifice for my mad little experiment.

Back to Mc'D's.

Regularly, my order is screwed. Leaving off cheese, not including the hash brown, putting the cinnamon roll in the box upside down so I have to scrape the icing out of the bottom of the box. Really people, just how hard is it to cook at McDonald's? It's not like there is a raft of prep cooks in the back tending to large vats of veal stock or rolling up foie gras "torchons" in cheesecloth for later poaching.

This cooking is: remove cold, precooked meat product, heat to serving temperature, put on bun. And they even have pictographs to help them remember the sequence. Why can't I get the cheese I so crave in the mornings???

I'm not sure who is more afflicted. Them, because they can't "read" a picture or me because I keep showing up expecting quality service. And the attitude from the employees of this store is just horrendous.

Lately, I've been grumbling to myself how I wished I knew who to write so I can complain and 'lo and behold, today, posted on the drive-through windows was exactly THAT. "Please send you comments and complaints to the person who has the worst job on the planet."

Now I am confounded. Do I write the letter? And if I so, which language do I use?

I guess I'll be going to Sonic from now on.

Read more...