Welcome Back My Friends, To The World's-Smallest-Violin-Serenaded Pity Party That Never Ends

I keep hearing my second-best old ex-teaching buddy Karen's mocking sing-song voice in my head. "When will she E-E-E-VER learn?" Right before she'd snatch all my Rold Gold pretzel sticks acting as poker chips off the table and into her haystack-sized pile. Now, the pretzels are again mocking me.

Of course I can't stay away from Dairy Queen's soft pretzels. I wish I knew how to quit them. Okay. I'm not trying very hard. I KNOW they might be burned. Might be of substandard length. But they're SO GOOD! And they only cost $4.33 in combination with two chicken strips. Yeah, yeah. I KNOW the chicken strips might be of substandard length, and superstandard breading. But they're PRETTY GOOD with the honey mustard sauce, which I usually have a bit left in the container, for my own hard pretzel sticks later in the evening. (Nobody is going to win my pretzel sticks in a poker game these days!)

Anyhoo... I went to the DQ drive-thru. And was NOT satisfied with my experience. You didn't see that one coming, DID you?

I pulled to the window with my money ready. A TEEN GUY was leaning on his elbows on the stainless steel counter inside the sliding window. Like he barely had the energy to stay conscious. The minute he slid open the window, a hand darted out holding my bag. It was a tiny bag compared to what I usually get, but I never know exactly what shenanigans to expect from that place. Sometimes I get a giant bag, that I could put over my head like the Unknown Comic.

Anyhoo... the hand was yanked back into the dark recesses of the drive-thru bay by its attached girlish arm. TEEN GUY then put his own arms out the window to hand me my change. I though he was gonna give me the two-hand bereavement handshake. It was like he wanted to cup one hand under mine while depositing my coins. Maybe he's had to drag himself outside one too many times for dropped change, and he was being cautious. Or maybe he is so used to people paying with cards that he was afraid of those metal disks that trickled from his fingers.

Anyhoo... when I got home and ripped open my tiny bag, I was HOT TO TROT! And not in a good way. 

NO HONEY MUSTARD!

They had given me GRAVY! A styrofoam, lidded container of GRAVY. Seriously, people. HONEY MUSTARD and GRAVY have only TWO LETTERS IN COMMON! They don't even sound alike! 

AND... the gravy container was jammed into my soft pretzels! They were flat! As well as burned, and tiny. But the chicken! It couldn't even peek over the side of the cardboard coffin that it comes in! Two bready nuggets. Without even honey mustard sauce to drench them with.

Yes, I know you're tired of telling me to complain. You don't have to tell me again. It's pretty obvious by now that I'm not going to risk body fluids in my next purchase. But I WILL snidely say, peeking into the bag next time, while holding up the line: "Just checking to make sure I have my HONEY MUSTARD, and not GRAVY, like you gave me last time."

The food itself was not even my major issue this time. It was the  behavior of the workers. TEEN GUY has no idea what it's like to REALLY work for a living! He's standing in an air-conditioned building, with a tiny window he can close, and walk away, if a customer gets "horsey" with him, as my dad used to say. TEEN GUY isn't sweating over the grill, or over-frying chicken strips, or waiting on customers over the counter where they can see him clearly and expect a smile. It's not like he's walking the streets for 11 hours a day, in the heat or rain.

I'm pretty sure it would have killed either TEEN GUY, or THE ARM, to say "Thank You."

Wade With Me Once Again, Through The Brackish Waters Of Stagnant Customer Service

Put on your hip boots! CROCs won't do! There's something nasty here that might cause festering if you're thin-skinned.

Saturday, I stopped by the Liquor Store for some scratchers. I won my money back, so I have no issues with their ticket luck. I DO have issues with their issues!

You might recall how I've mentioned this place before. How they seem to be a family-run business, and service is spotty. Some weeks you'll get the gal who is polite, efficient, and calls you 'hon.' Or the young guy who is all business. Then there are the other two, young gals who seem disinterested, and grudgingly complete your transaction.

Saturday, I got a young blonde gal I've only seen there twice. The parking lot was near empty, with two other vehicles parked, and three waiting at the drive-thru window. They always have two workers. Inside, a woman was standing at the counter, completing her transaction. A dude and chick, obviously together, were next. They shifted foot to foot, and browsed in the glass display cases that provide a barrier between clerk and customer.

Blondie was on the phone. It looked like a cordless phone for the business, not a cell phone. I assumed she was talking to a boss or owner. The whole time I was in there, she talked. She completed purchases without interacting, if that's possible. She was so intent on her conversation. I spent a little longer in line than I would have liked. There's no good place to lean on anything there, what with shelves full of glass bottles. If she'd just put down that dang phone until serving three customers, she could have cleared out the place sooner. Here's the gist of what she was saying. I think she had more than ONE issue.

"So I just had this thing with a guy at the window. I don't know what his problem was. He said, 'That's the kind of thing that causes drama.' I was sick of it. I said, 'I don't NEED this job. At least I know I  have friends, and everybody doesn't hate me.' What? Well, she said she was leaving, and there was a whole black line of feet across the lobby, from people walking in, and she didn't even clean it!"

Yeah. Sounds pretty dramatic to me. Good thing she doesn't NEED that job. It's probably safe, anyway. They don't seem to put a lot of stock in customer service there. I still suspect it might be a front for something else...

Like The Inmates And Lepers Before Him

Farmer H must have lost his mind. He bought something for ME at the auction last week, and also something for the Mansion. Not only was he thinking of others, but he spent his own money!

My surprise was a bag of animal cookies. I've shown them to you before. They weren't in a box or labeled package. Just an opaque plastic bag. Like a cereal bag that comes inside a box. 

Anyhoo... I was pleased with the thoughtfulness, AND the tasty treat. Farmer also bought 3 cans of pineapple chunks. At least they were in a regulation can with a picture on the label. Not in a Solo cup, sloshing around all willy-nilly. I first thought he'd gotten them for The Pony.

"Oh, The Pony loves pineapple!"

But the look on Farmer H's face plainly said that he'd gotten the pineapple for himself. In fact, he had plans to let the cans live on the kitchen table until I evicted them.

"Oh, so those will go in the pantry."

"Well. My hands are full right now." 

 

Said Farmer H, having absolutely nothing in his hands, having set down the cans oh pineapple, and the bag of cookies that I refused to take when he stuck them in my face. Why do guys DO that? Anything they don't want in their hand, they stick in your face to get rid of it. Like a wrapper from candy, chewed gum, a program from graduation, ANYTHING! Like we are walking wastebaskets!

Anyhoo... there was also an item that was larger, and rolled up, that Farmer H had under his armpit. He unrolled it and placed it on the kitchen floor, in front of the door.

 

 

Yes, like the inmates before him, running the asylum, and the local leper, running the colony... THE NUT IS RUNNING THE NUT HOUSE! 

Farmer H put that rug on the INSIDE of the Mansion. I would presume it belongs on the outside, to wipe your feet on, just before stepping over the threshold. At the location Farmer H placed this rug, you are LEAVING the Nut House!

It's the little things, people. The little things...

And Now, In A Totally Shocking Change Of Subject...

Nah! I'm lying. Bait-and-switch. I fished you in, but now I'm on the same old topic:

 

NOBODY THESE DAYS CAN DO A JOB RIGHT! 

I know you all have advice for me, but I just can't follow through. When my fast-food order is messed up, I am loathe to give the incompetent staff a second chance to... oh... I don't know... POISON ME? I have a few places that I go to regularly. I don't want to get the reputation of THAT customer. Even though I'm in the right.

Burger King is the latest hotbed of slackers. Thursday is my Burger King day. ALL WEEK, I looked forward to my Whopper and my chocolate shake. It's not like they're preparing one of those puffer fish that needs the poison sac cut out of it. It's putting a burger on a bun, and mixing chocolate syrup with ice cream.

I was the only car in line. I ordered. The guy seemed to grasp what I wanted. It was correct on the screen. He repeated it back.

"Drive around. Pay at the second window."

I drove around. Nobody was ahead of me. I went directly to the second window. It was the order guy, wearing clear plastic gloves.

"Are you the Whopper and chocolate shake?"

"Yes."

Seriously? Did he think I cut line during the drive-around? I was the only customer! He took my debit card. Siphoned the invisible money off of it. Then handed it back.

"Thank you. Have a nice day."

Seriously? It's like he expected me to drive off! I wasn't fooled. I sat tight, waiting on the food I just paid for.

He handed me the bag. Then the Diet Coke. I KNEW I should have ordered it without ice, like I've done the past two weeks. But I'm trying to conserve FRIG II's ice, so The Pony has plenty to take in his water jug. When I got home, the cup was 3/4 ice, and the rest Diet Coke. But that doesn't even make my complaint list! I'm just tellin' ya!

I waited and waited for the shake. The kid took another order. Then he handed it out the window. To my credit, I DID question him.

"Why is it so watery?"

No answer. He completely ignored me. It's not like I would have taken a replacement. They don't make them within my line of sight! So I drove off. But here's the deal: There was no whipped cream on my shake! It's standard. It comes with whipped cream. All they do is shoot it out of the metal can with a nozzle, just the the cans you get at the grocery store. It's not like they're using a chilled metal bowl on ice to whip actual cream.

A couple times they've asked if I wanted whipped cream. One day I did not. And my shake came with a flat lid, like a soda cup lid. But THIS shake had the bubble top lid. So I had all that empty bubble space with no whipped cream, and when I tilted the cup to drink through my straw (which rolled around the edge, not having the criss-cross in the flat lid, nor the blob of whipped cream) to hold it in place. Some shake got into the crack where the lid connected, and a tiny drip got onto my shirt. It was WATERY on top, you know. I guess they made it first, and let it sit there while cooking my Whopper.

I always get my Whopper with no lettuce. Oh, I had no lettuce alright. As well as NO ONION! Yet the wrapper was only marked with the line through the lettuce box. The fries were put in the bag sideways. You know how the little box has that semicircular scoop in the cardboard in the front? That was face down on my Whopper. So instead of a couple of "bag fries," there were 10. Good thing The Pony wasn't home to carry it in for me and claim the bag fries!

 

I was a bit later than usual. I get there before 3:00, but this time it was 4:45. So I've made a mental note to get there BEFORE the school kids start their shift. Except it's SUMMER! Graduation is over. So those teenage slackers can work ANY HOURS!

 

It's going to be a long summer...

It Ain't Exactly Money For Nothin', But It's Close

The Pony worked nine hours on Wednesday. You might think he came home exhausted. You'd think wrong. He came home FLABBERGASTED. 

 

"At least TWO of those hours, all I did was drive!"

 

"Well. That happens. I wouldn't be complaining."

 

"I'm not complaining! I just can't believe it. I thought it was bad the other day when I made two trips from Sis-Town to Hillmomba. And that's only about 10 or 15 minutes. But hey, if they want to pay me to drive, that's okay. Even though I never know when I might break down."

 

"Where did you drive today?"

 

"Way down to the town where I had the driver's training on the LLV. It's about an hour round trip. I rode down with MAW (middle-aged woman) to pick up a van. Not the fancy van, but the American-made van."

 

"Did you drive the van back, or did she?"

 

"Um, I did, because we drove down there in her car! I don't know if we're just borrowing the van. I hope we get to keep it!"

 

"So then did you get to drive it the rest of the day?"

 

"No. I got sent over to Bill-Paying Town, to help MAW deliver her packages. The vehicle I had was left-hand drive, so no good for streetside delivery. The part I did was supposed to take 30 minutes, but it took me over an hour. It was apartments, and the boxes were stuck. Then I had a package that was postage-due, so I had to take it to the door, and get money from the person or take it back to the office. They owed $19.60,  and I didn't have change, so I had to write them out a thing. I actually drove four different vehicles today: two right-hand drive, and two left-hand drive."

Such is the life of a Pony-of-burden. His pay week started Saturday, when he worked 11 hours. Then he was paid for 8 hours for Monday's holiday. And 10 hours Tuesday, 9 hours Wednesday. He was scheduled off for Thursday, but got penciled in. When he sent me that text, I thought he said he got PENICILLIN! 

Looks like The Pony is headed for some overtime, or some time off. And hopefully NOT penicillin.

Hope We Don't Have To Rebuild Him

The Pony had his first paid holiday this week. I'm sure he learned that sometimes, a day off is more trouble than it's worth.

Let the record show that The Pony and his work brethren and sistren are scheduled to come in an hour later on Mondays. And in this case, the holiday Monday being Tuesday. There are lots of packages those days, and let's face it, The Pony and his recent hires are younger, and just got insurance.

Yes, I am able to drop The Pony from my health insurance now. He was activated on his own insurance (the premiums which will be held out of his pay) on the 22nd. He even got his paperwork to prove it on the 29th. Good thing he was healthy for that week! At least he's still covered by mine until July 1, our fiscal year.

Anyhoo... last Friday, The Pony hurt his fetlock wrist carrying a heavy package. He's strong as an ox (a daintly ox who laid around playing computer games for the past year), so that surprised me. The Pony said it was an awkward shape. It doesn't help that he's broken both elbows, which don't fully extend like a normal person's elbow.

The Pony was going to tell his supervisor when he went in Saturday morning. Farmer H cautioned him not to, because nobody wants the reputation of a malingerer right after their first 30-day evaluation. Farmer H said he'd get a wrist brace at the Devil's Playground (advice that I had already given) and tough it out. The Pony insisted that he was SUPPOSED to tell. Which I am sure they instilled in the new recruits during their two-week training. For liability purposes.

Anyhoo... The Pony might have told, to have it on the record. I didn't have time to ask, then I forgot. But he DID get a wrist brace on the way to work Saturday morning. He said it felt better until 1:00-3:00. I don't know if it went numb after that, or if he took some ibuprofen.

Anyhoo... Tuesday dawned with a light rain that was expected to last into the afternoon. The Pony left for work while I was in the NASCAR bathroom, so I didn't have a chance to interrogate him. I doubt that was an accident...

Anyhoo... I'd told him the night before that if he assumed he would work another 11-hour day, then any time he was released earlier would feel like an EARLY OUT, as we in the education profession call it. At 7:54 p.m., I got a text:

"Clocked out. Acquired a battle wound. Gonna go to Steak n Shake."

That was a bit cryptic. The Pony usually writes a chapter of War and Peace, which my phone object to waiting on. Those three little incoming text dots make me crazy.

Huh. Battle wound. I didn't get a call from the hospital, so The Pony was surely still ambulatory. With a good right leg to work the gas and brake in his Rogue. Battle wound. Maybe his head was all wrapped in gauze, like that fifer in the the "Spirit of 76" painting by Archibald Willard. Hopefully he didn't run over his own foot with the LLV (Long Life Vehicle). It was raining. so probably not a killer bee attack.

While I was mulling that text, reluctant to question it, since The Pony was likely driving to Steak n Shake, I receiver a text from Farmer H:

"Did Pony say what his battle scare is"

Okay, I completely missed the SCARE part of that, until just now checking my phone, heh, heh. We were in the dark until The Pony got home. He came down to my lair to show me the wound. It was on his right wrist, two little holes gouged into the skin. Like maybe one of those fat kindergarten pencils would do.

"See? It kind of looks like a snake bite. One of the postal lockers was stuck, and I tried to jimmy it open."

"With WHAT?"

"What do you mean, 'with what'?

"What did you use to pry it? What slipped and put holes in your wrist?"

"Oh, I didn't use anything but my hands. That's just what the locker did to me."

"Customarily, you use an implement when you 'jimmy' something."

"No. Just my hands."

I'm pretty sure The Pony is going to be all right. I bet he wasn't even wearing his wrist brace when he did that. Surely it would have protected his tender skin. 

That's an interrogation for another day. In the meantime, I hope we don't have to rebuild The Pony like the Six Million Dollar Man. He's a few million short for such a re-haul.

A Blizzard Too Pure, Like The Driven Snow

We didn't go anywhere or do anything on Monday. Except for my 44 oz Diet-Coke-procuring mission to town. Nobody parked too close to T-Hoe, and nobody butted in front of me in line. So the trip was a success. Almost. 

I stopped by Dairy Queen for a small Brownie Batter Blizzard. I should have made it a mini, but I was treating myself to a small for no particular reason. Unless you count making potato salad and baked beans for the BBQ as a reason to reward oneself.

With leftovers for supper, I wasn't having lunch. The Blizzard was going to tide me over. I get up too late for breakfast! Last week I tried the Brownie Batter Blizzard, and it was delicious! By Dairy Queen kind-of-ice-cream standards. Chocolatey and filled with tiny cubes of brownie. It actually tasted like brownie batter was in the kind-of-ice-cream.

 

I'm pretty sure it's made with the chocolate variety of DQ's kind-of-ice-cream. It might have mentioned that online, or I noticed from the picture. Back when the boys were younger and still riding to school with me, and you could actually GO INSIDE a Dairy Queen, I'd ask for my Blizzard to be made with chocolate ice cream. I didn't do it for the Brownie Batter Blizzard last week, and it was chocolatey.

Monday was a different story. A girl took my order instead of a guy. When I got to the window, she asked if I wanted a lid on it. Nope. I planned to pull into a parking space and enjoy it, not wish I had three hands to eat it while driving. And then the gal did the most amazing thing!

SHE FLIPPED THE BLIZZARD UPSIDE DOWN BEFORE HANDING IT TO ME!

I'm pretty sure the DQ employees are supposed to do this. Because for as many years as I can remember, there's been a sign here saying that AT THIS DQ, THE BLIZZARDS WILL NOT BE TURNED UPSIDE DOWN, and don't expect a free one because you think they "forgot." It must be a chain thing, and the Hillmomba DQ thinks they're exempt. Until now...

Anyhoo... I was impressed that the kind-of-ice-cream was so thick. In years past, no way could they turn it upside down, because it would plop out, being too melty and thin.

Anyhoo... I pulled over to enjoy my treat, and noticed right away that it was not chocolatey! It was brown, not white. But a paler shade of brown than last week. AND when I stirred it around, there were whole blobs of WHITE kind-of-ice-cream in the bottom! I think the gal made it with vanilla kind-of-ice-cream, added a bit of chocolate syrup, perhaps, (because there was certainly no brownie batter taste or texture this time) and passed it off as a true Brownie Batter Blizzard.

You can't trust anyone these days to do a job well. Or even right.