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In a pickle

March 30, 2011

He stood behind the register. Round, sweaty and balding. He wore a name tag that read “Manager” and pecked away furiously at the cash register as I placed my order.

“I’ll have a chargrilled chicken sandwich, no pickles,” I asked, “And a large unsweet iced tea.”

He continued pecking. And then deleting. And then pecking.

“What was that?” he asked again.

“A chargrilled chicken sandwich… no pickles…” I repeated. “And a large unsweet iced tea.”

He pecked some more. Wiped his brow. And told me my total.

Then he pulled out a small cup and started putting ice into it with the plastic scoop.

“I’m sorry, I had a large unsweet iced tea…” I politely reminded.

“Oh,” he muttered, dumping the cup out and filling another for me. He handed me the large drink and rushed to the back where workers filled orders and bagged sandwiches and filled styrofoam cups with banana pudding milkshakes.

In the meantime, I took a sip of my drink. It was sweet tea.

“Hi,” I smiled, “I ordered unsweet iced tea,” I gently said to another worker, a young woman with glasses and mousy brown hair. She promptly dumped out my cup and got me another.

I stood. And waited. And finally, the “manager” looked at me and asked if I needed anything else.

“Um… a chargrilled sandwich? No pickle?”

He rushed to the back and returned with a bag that held a sandwich – and fries (which I didn’t order) – and I smiled and said “Thanks.” Then I went to my car, happy to just have my food.

I just opened my sandwich to put some sauce on the juicy chicken… and guess what:


It has pickles.


One Comment leave one →
  1. Andrew permalink
    March 30, 2011 2:02 pm

    Poor guy….he’s obviously in over his head, or having a real bad day, or both. God bless him.

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