The Wendy's Chronicals

Wendy's!  What is wrong with you?? You've really been letting me down lately.

I've lived across the street from you for over two years now.  And every time I've gone to you, hungry and in need for disgusting deliciousness, there is always hilarious drama at your counter.  Always.  It doesn't matter if there were only two people in line in front of me, I would still be waiting for 35 minutes to place my order.  And then another 20 just to get my Spicy Chicken Sandwich and medium lemonade.  And there were always, always bizarre people waiting in line with me. A sweet old woman from somewhere in Eastern Europe who slooowly questioned the ingredients of the salad options. A woman talking as loud as possible to her gold-toothed companion about how she's finna go over there and beat that bitch's ass. Tweaked out, emasculated, mumbling hipsters. A man who asked how much each and every individual item was, if he were to hypothetically purchase it, using only nickels. Once there was a very solemn looking man in huge, bright hunting-orange, sports-mascot furry pants and a cowboy hat. It was a people-watcher's wet dream.

But if your customers did not provide enough fast food theater, dear Wendy's, your employees took it to a whole new level. They were always yelling. Yelling at each other, yelling at the customers, yelling out the drive-thru window, yelling into their headsets. Everything seemed to always be someone else's fault. Eyerolls were rampant.  The word "bitch" was common. I saw not one, but two fights between a cashier and a customer. I'm talking all-up-in-your-face, leaning over the counters, somebody-best-hold-me-back screamfests. Over french fries or something. It was AWESOME. And then it'd be my turn and I'd step up and say "Hey, I'd like a number six with a lemonade," and the cashier would still be talking about the fight.  "Mmm hmm that bitch best know mumble mumble. Tell ME about french fries! Mumble mumble bitch best know mumble, oh uh UH!" I'd nod and say, "Right?" in that way that means "I hear you, but I'm not commenting at any further." I liked her.

This shit always happened. ALWAYS. My roommate Unicornz and I would be sitting at home and one of us would say "I want Wendy's." We'd have to set the DVR for a show that started in 30 minutes because we knew it might be an hour and a half before we made it back from across the street again. My friends would say "Oh, that Wendy's?? How can you stand that? It's horrible!" But I saw things differently. I loved you, Terrible Wendy's. You were always filled with adventures and stories! You provided so much entertainment for Unicornz and I, who patiently and silently watched everything for minute upon minute before finally leaving and saying only, "Woah." And then it hit me. You were an endless fountain of madness that should, nay, must be recorded.  OMG I'm totally gonna blog this!! The next time I went to Wendy's, I'd take detailed mind-notes and immediately blog about it. After I finished my Spicy Chicken Sandwich, that is.

And then something happened. Unicornz came home one day and said, "Dude.  I think Wendy's is under new management. There's this dude there now. Everyone is quiet around him. And my service was... fast and friendly."

"Get the fuck out," I said. I didn't believe that.

"No, for real. There was this huge line, but I ordered and got my food in like five minutes." 

This was upsetting. Efficiency? Not belligerent? Terrible Wendy's was cleaning up it's act. But it couldn't possibly last.

But it has. For months now. I just got back from across the street and just finished my number six. This woman took my order.  She reminded me of my Mom.  She was sweet and welcomed me.  She apologized profusely for being out of baked potatoes. She told me to enjoy my meal and the rest of my night. I told her thank you.

But inside, my heart broke a little.

(2009)