Friday, April 17, 2009

...and a side of humiliation please!

I don't have many pet peeves, but one of them is ordering at drive through restaurant windows. They just reduce me to a dithering idiot, as no matter how clearly, slowly, distinctly, and LOUDLY I speak, it seems the poor soul on the other end never understands what I am saying. Every. Single. Time.

So today, I took Rachel and James for their dentist appointments, just cleaning and a check-up. Aside - no cavities (yeah!) but James needs some baby teeth extracted (yuck!) to make room for those huge adult-sized choppers that are coming in... Seriously, he looks like he is getting ready to channel Simon, Alvin, or Theodore….

I've digressed.

So after their appointment, we decided to make a quick stop at the Popeye's right by their school so Rachel could have a piece of Mardi Gras cheesecake, so named because of the layer of colored sprinkles that festoon the top of the cheesecake. Yes, I believe in rewarding my kids for "no-cavities-dentist-visits" by plying them with sugar-laden treats; that's just the kind of mom I am, thankyouverymuch.

So, we pulled up to the squawking menu box in the drive-thru lane at Popeye's. And wait. And wait. Finally the speaker crackles, and it's time to place my order. A raspy voice comes out of the speaker, "Welcome to Popeye's, can I take your order?" Now I'm just assuming that's what she said, because what I really heard was more like "waruummoppp do popeyes… bamm ur tark wor morter?"

So, I said in my most clear and chirpy voice:

"Hi! I'd like one slice of Mardi Gras cheesecake please!"

Silence. Then static. Then the raspy voice: "Fries???"

Rachel starts to snicker. James points at me and laughs. They have witnessed this before. I try again:

"No, that was one slice of cheesecake, please."

More silence. More static, then the voice, "Did you say diet Slice ma'am?"

Rachel and James are laughing and snorting now. So I give them an evil glare, then turn and screech at the speaker:


“Please pull around to the window!” I think the voice says. And so we do. The girl who takes my money calls her co-workers over to get a glimpse of the idiot who can’t order cheesecake. I try to avoid eye contact as she hands me Rachel’s cheesecake, and then off we go.

But this silly story doesn’t end there. Unfortunately not. After dropping my still-giggling kids off at school, I start heading back to work, and as I’m driving by the Popeye’s, I am hit with this huge craving for a piece of fried chicken, which is strange because I haven’t wanted fried chicken in ages. Perhaps it is a subliminal thing from my previous perilous trip through the Popeye’s drive-thru; the smell of fried chicken must have triggered this when it wafted into the car. Whatever... it’s killing me. So I give in, swing into the parking lot, and find myself back in the same drive-thru lane. I pull back up to the menu. And wait. And again, the static, and the same raspy voice:

"waruummoppp do popeyes… bamm ur tark wor morter?"

This time I decide to skip the nice polite order and just bark out my order at the top of my lungs in slow, well-ennunciated syllables, complete with frantic hand gestures, just in case Ms. Popeye is watching.

“ONE BISCUIT AND ONE PIECE OF WHITE MEAT CHICKEN PLEASE!” I even point to the items on the menu, like that is going to help.

Silence. Then static.

“dooooo ur wurnt hmmm umna LEG er WING um amba THIGH ummmm BREAST?”

The four chicken parts were the only words I could recognize…

“BREAST PLEASE!!!” By now I am hanging out the car window trying to get closer to the microphone.

Silence. Then static.

“Leg?” the voice says.

“BREAST! BREAST PLEASE!” I shout. I am waving my hands around, feeling ridiculous.

“Thigh?” the voice rasps.

Sigh. “FINE!!!” I say, realizing that further attempts are futile.

So I pull up to the window, the drive-thru-window-person stares at me in recognition, then tries not to laugh as I meekly take my box of chicken (and yes, it was a thigh) and biscuit, and head out on my way.

Y’all, next time I’m parking and sending the kids in. I’m going to wear my sunglasses and scrunch down in the car in the parking lot. Either that or we’ll stop at the grocery store. They sell cheesecake there too, you know. And sprinkles...



His grace is sufficient. said...

Poor Adrienne,

You and my husband Blake have the same problem. They never understand him at any drive-thru either. My friend Molly has same the problem. They both try so hard and can never get what they order. I don't understand why the people in the drive thru can't get it right. I have a mouthful of metal right now and seem to have no problem. Maybe you have to speak in garbled code. lol.

Moose Mama said...

That is so sad. But funny. Really, really funny.

I never have this problem. So, it's even funnier.

Me :)

Stacey said...

LOL!!! This was hilarious!

Lora said...

I am so sorry for your frustration at the drive through; but you are hilarious!