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by Tim Adams
Yet again, my war. The war that is eternal. The war with the strong fist of Corporate American against the common middle-class peoples of the world. The struggle goes on and on. The war with . . . McDonald's. Hence, the following scenario.
You would of though that when McDonald's runs some special promotion their idea is to make more money. what corporation or company would not have the goal of making money in mind. This is why people go into business.
That is also why they have these little nerdy people with no lives in little cubicles thinking up cheesy ideas to sell to the public. (No matter they have seen the public OR the light of day for that matter.) To entice people to spend more, to make MORE money. With the basics down, we move to the scenario.
One day fairly recently I go into McDonald's. I am hungry. Perfect place for me to be because I have fallen pretty to the millions of commercials, offers and advertising pleas that have invaded every aspect of my life from my television viewing habits to my cybersurfing to my nightly ritual of brushing my teeth. (Don't ask) All enticing me to my newfound location of the lobby of my joyous fastifood wonderland.
*Note: I do not like cheese. I absolutely despise cheese. I hate it with a passion. I believe all of the cheese in the world should of been stuffed in the trunk of Princess Diana's limo before it left from the dinner party in Paris. Please note this as it is crucial to the rest of the tale.
Now, I see the ad on the menu screaming at me that for a limited only you can purchase 2 mouth-watering, scrumptious, euphoria inducing cheeseburgers for the very low price of 99 cents! Joygasm! Or so I thought until my magical cheese hating conscious kicks in and reminds me of my hatred for cheese. I think, oh well, I'll just get 2 hamburgers instead. Simple, huh? Not so.
I approach the register, and am met by a girl who looks to be 16 or 17. She is lazily chewing an hour old stick of gum, giving me a look that says she is getting off soon and doesn't really want to be distrubed by such petty things as customers. I guess that she will join her boyfriend, Rafael, a starving musician, after work they will ride off on his hog to Hooters, or someplace romantic for a nice plate of ribs and for dessert they will split a gravy bowl. Just a thought.
"How may I help you?", she says, emphasizing the word help, as if I am entirely at her whim. I do not realize how much I am until a minute later.
"I would like to order the special 2 cheeseburgers for 99 cents deal." This causes her to lazily find the right button on her register so she can 'help' me.
But before her eager little digit is able to strike the right key, I catch her off guard with my next request.
"Could you by chance make that 2 hamburgers? For the same price? I don't like cheese", I state firmly, thinking I am sure to get my request without any trouble. Little do I know.
Bubbles here stops, and thinks. I ponder a minute how she accomplishes it, and wait for my answer. Finally, with a gentle chew of her gum, and a stern look of exaggerated service, she replies, "Sorry, I can't do that." . . . . . . . I am fallen.
"Why not?" I wonder the reason that spent so much time rattling around inside her head and eventually landed at this conclusion.
"Inventory," she informs me with such an air of ease that I know it's the 40th time she's done this today, and I automatically discredit her with any thought process I might of considered her going through previously.
"Inventory?!?," I say, puzzled. What would inventory have anything to do with it? Is the inventory employee gonna go back to the cheese pile one day, and find 2 extra pieces? I'm sure this must be what would happen, as she would automatically be fired for trying to save the restaurant money because I'm sure they could sell those extra 2 pieces of cheese and there's more change in the tight fist of Ronald McDonald. She might even become employee of the month, a that would be the most important thing to happen to her in a long while, and she would get a plaque to show her grandkids on her 40th birthday as all the little rascals gathered 'round Grandma while mommy went to pick up her welfare check. It was the first of the month. And all this because of inventory.
"Why does inventory have anything to do with it? Are you gonna find some extra cheese or something and think rats you missed with the broom are vomiting it back up? And then of course it'll shut the restaurant down? I don't get it!" I am certain I gotten my point across now.
"Sorry, sir, *chew chew* just can't do it. Rules are *chew* rules." She seems to think that not only the 'firmness' of her statement, but compound it with the effort of her chewing, will of course set me in my place. Who could resist.
"Could I perhaps talk to your manager?" I am now certain I will get my way as I will find a higher authority and explain to him/her the 'Customer is Always Rights' Philosophy they should abide by.
However, as I look back to the register, Miss Spearmint Chew is now smiling as she points to her cheery Double-Arched nametag. Candy- Manager.
They may have won the battle, but never the war!