I left work at 6:30 pm to go home. Decided to stop by Wendy's to have a quick bite to eat.
Now, I'm a Wendy's fan. When I traveled all the time, Wendy's was my destination twice a week.
My
favorite is the #6 Combo: Spicy Chicken Sandwich (no lettuce or
tomato), small fry, and small Coke. In all my years, no Wendy's has
ever messed up my order.
Until Tuesday.
I gave the cashier my order, paid with my card, and got the receipt.
Then, I waited. And waited. And waited.
Four other patrons who had ordered before me milled about. Waiting.
After the guy before me got his order, I knew I was next. Nine minutes after I ordered.
The
lady behind the counter calls out, "Son of Baconator Combo. No lettuce
or tomato". Nobody moved to get it. She repeated, "Son of Baconator
Combo. No lettuce or tomato." Still, nothing.
Once more, she says, "Number 5: Son of Baconator Combo".
I
pulled my receipt from my pocket. To my horror, she had charged me for
a #5 Combo. I went up to the counter and politely told her, "I ordered
a #6 Combo--no lettuce or tomato".
She calls her manager to her register because she doesn't
know what to do. He helps her change the order. Turns out the #5
Combo is ten cents less that the #6 Combo I wanted.
I
steeled myself to be asked to pay the extra dime (plus tax). But the
manager looks at me and says, "You got a little discount on your
order." Not "Sorry", not "I apologize for our mistake; we'll get you
taken care of really quick".
How grateful should you act when someone makes a ten cent mistake in your favor? Is there a dance involved?
So I wait some more for my #6 Combo: Spicy Chicken Sandwich (no lettuce or tomato), fries, and Coke.
And wait. And wait.
The fries she had put on my tray were given to the next person in line.
More
minutes pass. Then she gets out a bag. Puts a sandwich and fries in
it. Sits a Coke on the counter. Says, "Number 6 Combo". Twenty-one
minutes after I'd placed my order.
Of course, I'd told her back then that I was eating my
meal inside the restaurant. But at least I had my food. Even if it was
in a sack.
I walk to the counter to get napkins,
straw, and ketchup. Wendy's has the little paper cups you squirt
ketchup in. I can't put them in a bag.
So I walk back to the counter and ask for a tray. The cashier looks dumbfounded when I place my bag on the tray and walk away.
Back to the ketchup squirter. Ketchup squirter has only enough ketchup for two little cups; I like five cups.
Back to the counter. "Your ketchup squirter is out. Can
I please have some packets?". The cashier hands me four packets of
ketchup. I do the quick conversion in my head. Two packets of ketchup
equals one little cup of ketchup. I already have two little cups of
ketchup. I now have the equivalent of four little cups of ketchup. I
need five. One short.
I can feel myself getting impatient. Many things I'd
like to say run through my head. I thought it best to walk away with a
ketchup deficit than to risk making a bitingly sarcastic comment.
So I go to a table.
I open my bag. Get out my
sandwich and fries. Place the bag on the floor out of my way. Squeeze
ketchup on my opened sandwich wrapper.
Then I take a
good look at my Spicy Chicken Sandwich. Poking out of it was lettuce. I
open the bun. You guessed it: a tomato. After I expressly said on
two separate occasions that I wanted a Spicy Chicken Sandwich with NO
lettuce or tomato.
I take off the tomato and toss it in the bag on the
floor. I grab the lettuce from the sandwich. I toss it in the bag.
But while flying through the air, an unattached piece of lettuce shoots
off to the side and misses the open bag. It lands on the carpet.
I looked at that stamp-sized piece of lettuce sitting on the floor.
And I looked at it.
And
I was thinking, "After all they've done to screw up my order, I ought
to leave that piece of lettuce lying there." And I do. I take a bite
of my sandwich. Then I look again at the lettuce on the ground.
I can't bring myself to leave it there. Sure, they messed up. But that doesn't mean I should mess up their floor.
So I pick it up.
And I take another bite of my sandwich. Doesn't taste quite right. It's chicken. It's fried. But it's NOT spicy.
Great.
It's a regular, run-of-the-mill, PLAIN chicken sandwich.
All this, and I still don't have what I asked for. Unbelievable.
But it's food and I'm hungry.
I should be grateful. I'm kind of grateful. Just not happy.
So
the lesson this week might be geared to me more than anyone. It's
entitled "Hope Expressed". It's about gratitude and thankfulness. It
comes from Psalm 138.
Come join us at 9:47 am on Sunday morning. Unless you are traveling to see your mother. It will be Mother's Day, of course.
Don't forget.
Finish Friday strong. Enjoy Saturday with your family. See you Sunday!
Loyally yours,
Darren Bayne
“Each day give thanks for the gift of life.” – Pablo Picasso
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