Traveling back from the Storytelling Festival in Cape Girardeau on Sunday afternoon, the four of us (Joel, Shirley, Barbara and me) felt an ice cream indulgence from Sonic would be the thing to tide us over until supper, as we had eaten a late breakfast and skipped dinner completely.
Pulling into a bay at the Sonic in Sikeston, MO and rolling down my window, I remembered why I don’t like going to a Sonic drive-in by myself, let alone with several more people. It’s a bit of a hassle to get the order(s) right while staring into a stainless microphone with no face attached. I’d be happier if there were a cordless mike, which I could pass around to everyone in the car so they could give their own order. But, so far, that bit of modern technology has escaped the engineering department at Sonic.
After a few moments of decision-making, I was prepared to speak into the featureless “micro-face” and place our order. Nervously, I pressed the red call-button as I extended my arm and hand from the window.
“Welcome to Sonic, may I take your order?”
“Yes…I’d like an Oreo Blast, a Butterfinger Blast, a medium strawberry milkshake and a vanilla milkshake.”
“That’s an Oreo Blast, a Reese’s Blast, a regular strawberry shake and a regular vanilla shake?” she asked.
“No, I don’t want a Reese’s Blast, I want a Butterfinger Blast and an Oreo Blast.”
“Sir, would you repeat your order?”
“I’d like an Oreo Blast, a Butterfinger Blast, a medium strawberry milkshake and a vanilla milkshake,” I stated, trying to hide my malcontent in a calm voice.
“That’s an Oreo Blast, a Reese’s Blast, a regular strawberry shake and a regular vanilla shake?” she asked.
“No, no! I don’t want a Reese’s Blast, I want a Butterfinger Blast.” I responded, thinking I had somehow entered the fifth dimension, a Twilight Zone, if you will.
“And what else?”
“I’d like an Oreo Blast, a medium strawberry milkshake and a vanilla milkshake.”
“Okay, I have an Oreo Blast, a Reese’s Blast, a regular strawberry shake and a regular vanilla shake. Would you like anything else?” she replied.
Exasperated, and adhering to the “three strikes and you’re out” rule I stated, “Yes, I’d like a different order taker.”
Almost immediately, a different voice asked for my order.
“I’d like an Oreo Blast, a Butterfinger Blast, a medium strawberry milkshake and a vanilla milkshake.”
“That’s what we have, Sir!”
“Good, that’s what I want.”
I sat there mulling over why, if that’s what was on the display, the first order-taker didn’t read it back correctly. Maybe, she just got Reese’s STUCK in her brain and couldn’t say BUTTERFINGER. Stay cool, I’m okay.
Waiting for the order to arrive, I told Joel, “I guess you know she’s going to spit in your milkshake.”
“She won’t know which one is mine,” he laughed.
“In that case, she’ll spit in everybody’s.” I teased, though slightly repulsed at the thought of an order-taker getting revenge on a customer that got her in trouble.
My stress over the “spit” was for naught, and, as best we could determine, our ice cream treats were unadulterated and delicious.
Pulling into a bay at the Sonic in Sikeston, MO and rolling down my window, I remembered why I don’t like going to a Sonic drive-in by myself, let alone with several more people. It’s a bit of a hassle to get the order(s) right while staring into a stainless microphone with no face attached. I’d be happier if there were a cordless mike, which I could pass around to everyone in the car so they could give their own order. But, so far, that bit of modern technology has escaped the engineering department at Sonic.
After a few moments of decision-making, I was prepared to speak into the featureless “micro-face” and place our order. Nervously, I pressed the red call-button as I extended my arm and hand from the window.
“Welcome to Sonic, may I take your order?”
“Yes…I’d like an Oreo Blast, a Butterfinger Blast, a medium strawberry milkshake and a vanilla milkshake.”
“That’s an Oreo Blast, a Reese’s Blast, a regular strawberry shake and a regular vanilla shake?” she asked.
“No, I don’t want a Reese’s Blast, I want a Butterfinger Blast and an Oreo Blast.”
“Sir, would you repeat your order?”
“I’d like an Oreo Blast, a Butterfinger Blast, a medium strawberry milkshake and a vanilla milkshake,” I stated, trying to hide my malcontent in a calm voice.
“That’s an Oreo Blast, a Reese’s Blast, a regular strawberry shake and a regular vanilla shake?” she asked.
“No, no! I don’t want a Reese’s Blast, I want a Butterfinger Blast.” I responded, thinking I had somehow entered the fifth dimension, a Twilight Zone, if you will.
“And what else?”
“I’d like an Oreo Blast, a medium strawberry milkshake and a vanilla milkshake.”
“Okay, I have an Oreo Blast, a Reese’s Blast, a regular strawberry shake and a regular vanilla shake. Would you like anything else?” she replied.
Exasperated, and adhering to the “three strikes and you’re out” rule I stated, “Yes, I’d like a different order taker.”
Almost immediately, a different voice asked for my order.
“I’d like an Oreo Blast, a Butterfinger Blast, a medium strawberry milkshake and a vanilla milkshake.”
“That’s what we have, Sir!”
“Good, that’s what I want.”
I sat there mulling over why, if that’s what was on the display, the first order-taker didn’t read it back correctly. Maybe, she just got Reese’s STUCK in her brain and couldn’t say BUTTERFINGER. Stay cool, I’m okay.
Waiting for the order to arrive, I told Joel, “I guess you know she’s going to spit in your milkshake.”
“She won’t know which one is mine,” he laughed.
“In that case, she’ll spit in everybody’s.” I teased, though slightly repulsed at the thought of an order-taker getting revenge on a customer that got her in trouble.
My stress over the “spit” was for naught, and, as best we could determine, our ice cream treats were unadulterated and delicious.
1 comment:
Love this! Been there and done that many times, my friend. FYI: my wife would have had me pull out and leave after the second screw-up. And I would have said, "Yes dear." hahaha
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