Adventures of Failed Fast Food Makeovers

Has anyone else noticed the recent drive-thru makeovers at several fast food chains? (Not that I’m the instant-gratification-type who chronically orders fast food…or the type that gravitates like a magnet toward the Sweet Teas calling out to me from the nearest carry-out window. I’ve just heard about it.)

Before the makeover…

My car rolls over the sensor cord.

(The speaker box says nothing.)

“Hello?” I say to the box.

(Nothing.)

I put my car in reverse and backup over the sensor again. This time, more decisively.

“Hello?” I prompt the speaker again. I am half-architect half-astronaut searching for signs of intelligent life on the fast food planet.

“H’lo, shwe-oam to Bwah-Mah-No.”  A crackly voice responds. “Ow ca-eye elyou?”

I wonder if the employee is speaking through a mouthful of chicken nuggets or whether the speaker system is powered by Fisher Price who made the static-y walkie talkies my brothers and I owned back in the 1980’s.

“I’d like a grilled chicken sandwich meal with an iced tea, please.”

“Ward you li nee fries widat?”

(Luckily, I am fluent in 80’s-fast-food-speaker-mumblage, so I can translate.)

But I’m a bit perplexed.

“Doesn’t a meal come with fries?”

(Pause)

“Um…” (more puzzled silence) “…We just have to say that.”

Back then, they did too.

They had to.

You could order a large fry and they would ask you if you wanted fries with that.

They were that committed to fries.

Those were the good old days.

We don’t see that kind of commitment anymore.

After…

My car rolls over the sensor.

“Hello, welcome to <insert fast food chain>, would you like to try a latte today?” A crisp voice with a deep southern accent and perfect enunciation, asks.

“No thanks, I’ll just have a baked potato and an iced tea, please.”

(Giant pause.)

(No response.)

The articulate southerner, transferred in from Alabama, is ignoring me.

(Continued silence.)

I wonder why this charming southerner moved up here to work if she intended to slack on the job.

Surely, they could have ignored customers back in peachy Montgomery and saved themselves a few thousand miles.

(I hear the speaker system click on.)

Finally, my educated southerner is returning to wait on me.

“Uh…hi…can I get your order?” A midwestern teenager asks.

Clearly there has been a mutiny.

The midwestern teens have risen up and usurped the nice-speaking Southerner. The polite southerner is now locked in the back office.

I wonder if I should alert the authorities.

“Did you get my first order–the baked potato and iced tea?” I ask.

(I cannot eat two baked potatoes and two iced teas. That would be excessive.)

“You didn’t order yet.”(This is part of their customer-is-always-right training.)

“I asked the first girl for a baked potato and iced tea. Did someone put that through or should I order again?”

“Oh, that? That’s just a recording.” The teenager chides me, “You can’t talk to a recording. It can’t hear you. Its just a recording.”

I am momentarily dumbfounded, before grieving the loss of my congenial southern friend.

I thought we had connected.

“What do you want then?” The teen asks.

Well whatever you do, don’t get me a baked potato and an iced tea.

I sigh. Corporate probably thinks this recording bit speeds things up; streamlines it.

Not so much.

I repeat my order with an air of sadness, wishing my southern soulmate would return to ask me if I want any fries with that.

I’m not a fan of this makeover.

But I can’t blame them. I’ve done some bad makeover jobs on myself too. Both the physical kind, when huge Rave-sprayed ratted bangs seemed like a good idea, and the soul kind, where I thought I’d matured only to smash into evidence that my immaturity is only a bit further beneath the surface.

What about you? Experiencing any makeovers lately–the successful or circular kind?

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