The #1 son is home and feeling his pain meds. I'm not going into detail here, but we made two trips to the ER with him this weekend. The problem was a severe headache, neck pain, and hand numbness. Still not absolutely sure of the etiology of his discomfort, but some major conditions have been ruled out. Right now the doctors are just treating his symptoms.
Now on to the more pressing matter of my displeasure with Sonic employees.
We didn't leave the ER last night until after 10:00 p.m. I had grabbed a handful of loose ham for lunch, and #1 forced down a Little Debbie Cosmic Brownie against his nausea's will right before we left for the 40 minute drive to the ER. There's one about 10 minutes from the Mansion, but they don't have all the equipment needed for tests. If you're bleeding to death, or having a heart attack, or can't breathe, or dropped a 5th-wheel trailer hitch on your great toe, it will suffice. Otherwise, you're going to be sent somewhere else to complete their assessment. By the time #1 was discharged, we were famished. We had been planning our eventual meal for several hours while whiling away the dead time between tests.
I pulled T-Hoe into an order stall. No way was I going to try eating a burger while driving in the dark with the glaze of frost that kept forming on T-Hoe's windshield. The girl told me it would take five minutes to make the food. Um. Okay. It's not like we expected her to wave a magic wand and teleport it to us instantaneously. I left the car running for heat. #1 and I settled back for the short wait on our long-awaited sustenance. He had visions of two corn dogs, large tots, a medium cherry Coke, and a Reese's Cups and Chocolate Waffle Cone Sundae dancing in his aching head. I was eagerly anticipating my hamburger with pickles, onions, tomato, and mayo. Therein lies the nature of my discontent.
HOW FREAKIN' HARD IS IT TO REMEMBER FOUR TOPPINGS?
I'm pretty sure the human brain can remember seven items. Thus, the phone number. Even if you consider that hyphen thingy, a human brain can at least remember a chunk of four items consistently. So how can a Sonic worker whose job it is to take orders all the live-long day not remember FOUR FREAKIN' TOPPINGS?
I was counting out the money for payment. #1 declared that I was going to give too big a tip. "But they don't make even minimum wage. The carhops count on tips as part of their salary."
"I don't care. I never give more than a dollar. Usually not even that much. You are giving almost 12 or 13 percent if you add a dollar to what's due in change. I think that's too much just for carrying food to the car. It's not like she's continually filling our drinks. But it's your money."
See? Even injured, #1's brain functions pretty well. "I'm adding on two dollars. She has to come all the way out here in this freezing weather."
Imagine my chagrin when, after I'd paid with my outrageously inflated tip, I opened my burger to find pickles, onions, mayo, and LETTUCE! I despise lettuce on a burger! It is bitter. And Sonic shredded lettuce sticks to the sides of my gums and teeth. Oh, how the world conspires against Mrs. Hillbilly Mom! I know the carhop didn't make the burger. But I resented her tip. She was probably yukking it up with the cook, planning a getaway to Tahiti on my dime.
Life is not fair! I expected a burger as ordered. It was a verbal contract. AND I thought I had paid off Even Steven, Karma, and the Universe by paying good will forward with a nice tip.
I'm starting to understand that Scrooge guy.