Tuesday, March 11, 2008

Free Write

College has been a trying experience for me on many fronts.  One in particular that distresses me is my personal health.  When I started my formal schooling in the winter of 2004, yes it’s 2008 and I’m nowhere near to being done, I was a svelte 6’3, 210 pounds.  Now, four years later, I’m still 6’3 but have put on about 140 pounds.  How is such a feat possible?  Simple, I have no time to cook or exercise and so eat the majority of my meals from fast food restaurants.


What most interests me about the various fried food dispensing chains is not the food but those who work there and keep the place running.  Typically McDonald’s is worked entirely by Mexicans with a white manager.  Wendy’s is almost always all Mexican staffed while Del Taco keeps a better mix of ethnicities.  Only stoned college and high school kids work at Sonic so I don’t go there.


As most, if not all, fast food consumers are white people looking to avoid the work of preparing a meal themselves at times the clashing of cultures leads to difficulties and hilarity surrounding an order.  After a long night my wife and I went to Wendy’s and obtained our order with no difficulties until I asked for salt.  Observe:


“May I have some salt,” I ask, loudly as I’m sitting in the passenger’s seat.


The drive-thru clerk looks at me, tilts her head to the side like a cat might do and does nothing.


“May I have some salt, please?”  I figured she might be waiting for the magic word.


“Sal…Wha…?”   She continues to stare at me.


“May I have some salt!” Now my ire is up and I don’t understand why this person refuses to hand me a package of salt.


“Sal…tuh?”  She then shakes her head and walks over to the manager who comes to the window.


“What can I get you?”  the manager asks.


“Salt.” I reply curtly.


“Salt?  Oh yeah we have salt.”  Then she too stares at me, doing nothing.


“Can I have some?” I shout.  My wife by this time is shaking with a fit of giggles, trying not to laugh at my difficulty in obtaining a simple table seasoning.


She looks startled, grabs enough salt packets to re-salinate the Great Salt Lake and thrusts them into my car.


We drive off and I vow to never again come to Wendy’s at 9:45 p.m. on a Wednesday evening.  All other times are free game though.

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