Wendy's

A short time back, my wife and I were headed out of town for the weekend. Not a long trip. Not a trip to a far off land. Not even a very exciting trip. Just out of town. Down the road a couple hours to a town in southern Louisiana. In fact, for the purpose of this story, our destination really doesn't matter much at all. It's more about what happened before we left town.The purpose of the trip was to clear our minds. Actually, to clear my mind. I have one of those jobs that is remarkably easy. I work one mile from my home. I never work on Sunday. I never break a sweat. I get paid fairly well to explain things to people until it makes sense. It's got its upsides. It has its downsides too. I work 9-12 hours a day. Six days a week. There are only two holidays. I rarely get a lunch break. The phone never stops ringing. It's never for good news. And I have to make things make sense to people that just assume when they never thought of it "that way" that I must be lying. Then most of the time, I deal with many people that just don't "get it". All those people that don't "get it" apparently line up at the red light and wait. Then, one two, three, go; here they come. I really wonder how these people make it in their lives. It falls on me to explain some things that, to me, are so elementary in their nature, yet trivial to most. Profit and loss, like in any business, is mainly due to the correct processes being put in place and then those processes adheered to. If we take no more effort, but move this over here and do this with that, then it makes more money. I try to joke around a bit, but I take my job, actually, my career, very seriously. Then, unfortunately, I also take that job with me where ever I go. It won't leave me. I see improper processes in place all over town. I can't always tell you what you should do, but normally I can spot about 3-5 things you shouldn't in mere seconds. I can analyze a business in minutes and give its owner a couple of ways that would either bring in additional profit or in the least cut down on their losses. It's very hard for me to deal with profit, in any form, just walking out the door. Especially, it going in the trash. It pains me to witness shrinkage on a small scale because there are no small scales. Small things may be tiny, but they are the ones that occur over and over creating the large scale. This would be the day to witness such an event. Not so much because of what happens on my visit, but moreso in the way I can forsee those events from my visit being repeated time and time again, day and day out, month in and month out, for years, to include or surpass thousands upon thousands of lost dollars from the owner's bottom line.So, you can probably see right about now that I have a tendency to be a little high strung. There also may be a time or two that I've been known to let things get to me. I also, may have, on occasion, made an ass out of myself in public because it drives me absolutely ape shit crazy to see money just being pissed away by minimum wage employees who's only care is whether or not they have enough minutes left on the cell phone that their momma pays for that they can get a free ringtone describing creative ways to back up and grind body parts in a rhythmic manner to noise that is somehow called music, yet has no distinct words. It infuriates me to no end. Hence, the time off to clear my head.I've brought into adulthood many of those travel habits that were instilled in me as a child. #1: I pack lightly. For a 3 day trip, I will need the following: 3 tshirts, one pair of shorts, clean underwear and flip flops. And that's only "just in case" I spill something on one of the tshirts. So it's safe to assume that I'm a light packer. #2: I fill the gas tank before ever getting on the highway. Stopping to get gas once we've started the trip just slows everything down if it's not completely necessary. #3: I go to the bathroom before I leave. If we have to stop it's not going to be because I'm the one that has to go. #4: I like to get some "to go" food for the road. Just seems like the sensible thing to do. Roadside diners and the random small town cafe' aren't as alluring on a full stomach.Nothing about this little jaunt is in any way different. Until number four. This time, as I'm getting the car gassed up it comes to me that there is a Wendy's across the street. Maybe it would be a good idea to finish up here, then go across the street and dine-in this time at the local Wendy's. That's a great idea, huh? Dine-in. It's safer. The food will be hotter. And I'll be supporting a local business before leaving town. All good things in my mind.I complete my task at the gas station and mention the fast food idea to my wife. As always, she's cool with whatever. So off we go. Now, what will I have? I've been to Wendy's at least 5-6 times a year since I've been old enough to want to eat square hamburgers that don't actually come out looking like the one in the picture. For the most part, the menu has not changed. They do have some type of nuggets that taste ok with enough sauce and a Coke chaser. And they have fries. If they are hot, they can be some tasty fries. So that's it. I'll have nuggets, fries and a Coke. Easy enough.Inside, we wait our turn and upon reaching the counter I am axed "can I takes your odor?" I smile and nod. My wife, having not beared children yet, is already remarkably talented at being a mother. The eyes in the back of her head are working. Now keep in mind, I'm standing behind and a little to the side of her, outside of any peripheral vision she may have. She cannot see me. But she knows me. She takes a sharp step to her left, which is directly in front of me. It blocks the words I was gonna say from the ears of the cashier. I pause. Just as she wishes.My wife, in her rediculously polite natural manner says "Yes mam, I'll have a nugget kid's meal with a chocolate Frosty." She cautiously steps to the side, not unlike that of George as he ordered his bisque from the soup nazi. A short step with a smoothe glide across. I look at her and think, "How nice, she's thinking ahead. Good idea." We'll get the kid's meals and save the toy for my daughter who wasn't able to come with us. And this week the toy is a computer game cd thingy about soccer. My daughter loves soccer.Now it's my turn to order. It's showtime! And I'm off from work. I don't want to be an ass. This is the beginning of a vacation for me. I can be nice. Three days away from being a bean counter. Three days away from worrying about profit or loss, for that matter. This is my time not to have to be me. I can do it. I can put on the good me show. I immediately have the next 2 to 3 minutes play out in my head. How can I control their actions with my actions? How can I get through this without coming unglued? I've been here before. I've seen this movie through till the end. I know how it ends. I can change it. I'll just give the most simple order instructions known to man. I will place an order that is impossible to not get right the first time. It will be infallible. I open my mouth. Pure genius exits my lips. It's so simple. "I'll have the same." I smile. And, of course, "Please." I cock my head to side just a tad because it pains me so much to NOT state the obvious. The obvious being, "I'll take anything you don't fucking mess up, you illiterate ass hole with imitation red, blonde and blue hair listening to your iClone." Of which, one earpiece tangled, reaching down between her massively overdeveloped cleavage. I'm thinking at least 4 kids and she's probably 23 at best. Continuing to smile my fake smile, I nod in approval. Not approval "to" anything or "with" anyting, but simply to just let this person know that I have completed the task of placing the order.Her name... is Stanzetta. I mean, come on, really. How am I supposed to take this person seriously? Must I say more? Her parents, both of which clearly have a remarkable sense of humor, must be working here. They have to, right? Probably worked in places like that since high school. Forgive me. Since they quit high school. But I'm not going to judge. Right? Vacation, right? It's none of my concern. But, at this point, I really just don't know what to do. I can't leave. I'd be an ass. I can't stay. I'll be an ass. My wife has already ordered. Might as well tough it out. I can do this! As the misfortunate daughter of Stanley and Rozetta leans toward me as if to assist in proper enunciation, my ears hear "won't drank we dat?"I'm amazed. I'm truly amazed. She's gonna fuck this up. I can see it. But I did what I was supposed to do. I was polite and I made it easy! Jesus, God. Make it work out ok. All I want is my order so that I can go. I just want to leave at this point. Maybe I could just pay and leave. I really don't need the order after all. I could simply leave a $10 bill and go on my way. But my wife looks at me like a mother looking at a 2 year old on the monkey bars for the first time. "You can do it" her eyes say. But her eyebrows quickly make something else completely clear. "And if you don't, there will be no sex for you for 3 long days" they say. I listen to the eyebrows. They speak the clearest language.I look back at Stanzetta and say with a smile, "Coke". And "Please".Stanzetta, looks over at my wife. Stanzetta is one of those that doesn't get it. Stanzetta says "An what drain you want?" My wife, again in her disgustingly polite manner says "Oh, as I mentioned, I'll be having the chocolate Frosty. Thank you."I really am just lost for words. I am simply torn between trying to understand how someone such as Stanzetta, who is, by the way, the Assistant Manager, of this establishment, can keep Dave Thomas' ghost from rolling over in his grave and with the thought of how my college educated wife can tolerate and deal with people such as this on a daily basis, yet still maintain her composure during such an eloquent display of non-professionalism.If my jaw did not drop an inch, it missed a wonderful opportunity.My head, as I look back at Stanzetta, resembles me watching a tennis match. This time Stanzetta says "It dawn come we dat". I quickly jump in and speak up. As I raise my hand just a little off the countertop as if to worn away a bad spirit, I say "That's ok. We'll just take whatever it comes with.""You won't fry we dat?""Does it come with fries?""Uh, huh.""Then we'll take the fries. Thank you."And for some reason I find myself nodding again. Not in approval, again. Just to let her know that my part of the conversation is complete.Stanzetta smiles. Suddenly, I'm both shocked and amazed. Stanzetta says "I'll take care dat foe you". I understood that. That was clear. She likes me. She smiled. Maybe my smile and my nod sort of greased her wheel. She is trying. I hope my wife notices this. I am doing the right thing and getting rewarded with good service. She will take care of that for me. She said she would. And for a moment it's all ok. I can tell it's up to me to accept that maybe I just expect too much from some people. It's not always their fault.I do the soup nazi slide with both hands in my pockets. I approach the waiting area that my wife has claimed for us and I do just that, I wait. We wait. Several minutes pass. And Stanzetta says "Tree A.D. tree". Something tells me to look at my receipt and it's just that "383". I prepare to fake my smile and nod. I approach the counter and pick up my tray. If I had tracks then I must have stopped in them. Stanzetta had failed me. What the fuck? In my mind, I'm thinking. "Two kid's meals. Two drinks. Two game cds." I look on my tray and I see 2 orders of fries, 4 extra french fry boxes stuck to the bottom of one order, 1 coke, 1 barqs, 1 frosty, 2 orders of nuggets (one of which clearly having extra pieces inside totally throwing off the nugget equilibrium), 1 (total) barbeque sauce packet and (get this) 3 cds.Now, I realize, that I'm in the mathematical field, but this is just redonculous. It borderlines on silly. I wanted to laugh. I wanted to cry. I wanted to go. No, I really wanted to take my tray and sling it all the way back to the "Employees must wash hands" sign located on the far back wall of the kitchen. But I did not. I simply picked up the tray. Smiled. Nodded, once again, not in approval. And went to the table my lovely wife had sought as refuge just in case I did my impression of the battle scene from Tron with our tray. Knowing how hard it was for me to behave as well as I had, my loving wife smiled and simply said "good job, baby, you did good".For a second, I get in bean counter mode. Shrinkage, is the term that a complany uses to describe unnecessary loss. The shrinkage on my tray alone is astronomical if you look at the entire picture. 2 extra drinks. 4 extra fry boxes. 1 extra cd. Now, for simplistic reasons, let's say that the 2 drinks have a net cost of 8 cents each, the fry boxes 2 cent each and the cd 10 cents. That's 34 cents. Only 34 cents, right. Well, my order was ONLY 5.98! Of that 5.98, probably only 25% is real profit. That's 23% of the owner's profit margin going in the garbage with absolutley no return at all. It's lost. And it's lost forever! Does he know? Does he care? Probably not. Now, take into consideration the fact that I am very unlikely to ever go back there again. The loss potential here is HUGE! Hey, OWNERS! Would you like to increase your profit margin by 23%? Would you like to get MORE repeat business that doesn't require spending advertising dollars? Of course you would. Then, don't hire people like Stanzetta! Or, at the least, hire them, train them, make them accountable and be accountable yourself. I don't mind spending money. I just don't want to give it away. And I think a lot of people are a lot like me.Through all of this, what blows me away is the following. I've raised a child. I've trained no less than a hundred employees. I've run departments. I've run two stores. I've assisted the running of three others. I've been accountable for profits and losses alike for almost a quarter century. So why is it, that I feel like I deserve a fucking Gold Star just for making it through the ordering process at Wendy's with a person that has obviously not grown accustomed to the English language and whose job skills are questionable? Who knows? I guess I'll just write about it here and hope that some of you people out there in readerland agree with me that it's just ridiculous what "normal" has turned into in this society. Hopefully, whoever owns that restaurant will take into consideration that there are those of us that will pay more, to get better service. And if you have to "wonder" if it's your restaurant or not, then it probably comes down to what kind of ass, as the owner, you have. If your "lazy" ass was down there running it correctly or if your "cheap" ass was paying someone enough so that they would "want" to run it correctly or if your "hard" ass was being accountable for your business, then you wouldn't have to wonder, now would you?Now, for those of you that are keeping score, we safely arrived at our vantage point approximately 3 hours later. Apparently, Stanley and Rozetta did some fucking about 20 years ago in south Louisiana too. I'm witness to the fact that Sade (I'm corrected that it is pronounced Sharday), at the hotel and Cleotis, at the Taco Bell the following day, are Stanzetta's next of kin. It's everywhere, reader. When and how are we going to fix it? More importantly, do we even care?