It’s the preferred method

(Originally published here.)

“Welcome to McDonald’s Drive Thru. I’ll be with you in one moment. (brief pause) I’m so sorry about the wait.”

“…”

“How may I take your order?”

“Hm… how about verbally?”

Not rectally, though, that’s for sure.

Vanilla

(Originally published here.)

“Hi, may I take your order?”

“Sure. I’ll have a chocolate shake,” said Doug. He turned to me.

“I’ll have a small shake, and could you make it half chocolate, half vanilla? I find the chocolate too sweet.” I smiled. The guy behind the counter looked at me in a panic.

“You… you want me to do what?”

“Make it half chocolate, half vanilla.”

“I don’t know how to put that in the cash register,” he said, fear in his eyes.

“OK… so charge me for a chocolate shake, and then just slip some vanilla in there.”

I gave him a winning smile. He looked like he was going to hyperventilate.

“I… I don’t know how to do that.”

I looked over at Doug. We both had had milkshakes at this fast food establishment in the past, and I had made my unusual request without anyone so much as batting their eyelashes. It’s a machine that spits out chocolate, strawberry or vanilla flavour. There is nothing else involved. No mixing. No programming. Just pushing different buttons.

“Well,” I said calmly, “all you have to do is push the chocolate button until the cup is half filled, then switch over to the vanilla one and push that one until it is full.”

“Push… the buttons?” He looked around at a coworker of his for support. The coworker ignored him. The coworker obviously did not care about this new person who was panicking, which kind of made me feel a little sorry for him. Despite the fact that he was obviously an idiot.

“Yes,” I said, deadpan. Doug, meanwhile, could not look at the cashier. Doug has a little bit harder time being patient with people who do not cotton on.

“So…” he squinted at the machine, which must have looked intimidating to him, and took one step toward it with a cup. He stopped. “I… I don’t think I can do that.”

I sighed. “OK. That’s OK. Just make it a small vanilla shake.”

“OK.” He looked like I do when I get off a treadmill after having run for five minutes straight: relieved, grateful, and a little bit in love with the still floor.

I waited patiently as he turned on the spot, reminding me of a dog chasing his tail. Doug walked away to get a couple of straws; he had received his chocolate shake within seconds of ordering it.

“So… medium?” He turned to me, smile at the ready.

“No, small.” I watched him carefully.

“Right! Right.” He shook his head ruefully, gave me a smile and headed toward the milkshake machine.

“Medium…”

“No,” I said. “Small. Small vanilla shake.” I looked at Doug for strength. I enunciated as I carefully repeated myself: “Small vanilla shake.”

It’s very difficult not to sound patronizing and condescending when you are repeating yourself, but I’ve had practice, and am proud to say that I managed it. Pretty sure it would have fallen on deaf ears had I been derisive, though, considering the recipient.

I may be one of those people who like things just so in a restaurant, but I feel like I generally make up for it with patience and courtesy.

“Small strawberry shake,” he told himself as he bent his head to the task.

“Vanilla!” I snapped, finally coming to the end of my rope.

There’s only so much patience a person can have with another person, after all.