Wednesday, April 23, 2003

Christie doesn't read my blog for religious reasons, but I occasionaly forward her a post I think she'll like. Her response to my post below about Rayne, Easter, and Key Lime Pie was, "Yeah, mentioning food to you is kinda like mentioning sports to other men."

She does know me well.

My first job out of college was as a grill cook at the McDonald's in Kirksville (now there are several, at the time it was the only one). The day in question was a slow one, probably during a break, so it was just me back in the grill, and the swing manager in the drive-thru.

Over the headset I heard the drive-thru tone sound, and I heard the guy order his food. It was a special order. In fact, it was an off-menu item (they don't advertise it, but most McDonald's will make just about anything you want, as long as they have the ingredients and they can figure out what to charge you, especially if it isn't busy). So first I heard it over the headset, then the special-order printer kicked it off, and, finally, the manager hailed me over the grill hood and gave it to me in person, so it had time to sink in before I actually had to respond: "Need a chicken biscuit with ketchup. Can we do that? Do you have chicken cooked up?"

"Yeah, we can do it. But you'll have to give him ketchup packets."

"Why? It's ten o'clock, don't you have the ketchup guns together yet?"

"Yeah, they're together, but you're still gonna have to give him packets."


"Cuz it's disgusting. I'll put a chicken patty on a biscuit, fine. It's gross, but whatever. But I absolutely refuse to put ketchup on it. They don't pay me enough."

"Ah, c'mon..."

"I'm not kidding."

So Chris gave him packets. I don't care who you are, or what you do for a living, sometimes you have to draw a line.

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