or, How I quit driving through at Taco Bell and learned to embrace the El Taco Loco wagon
Taco Bell, my biggest competition for my husband's palate, has this fairly new greeting at the drive-through:
"Hi, how are you doing," the monotonic minimum wage worker asks. It's not a question.
Not, "Welcome to Taco Bell. May I take your order?"
But one has to wonder about the new greeting, do they really care? No, they don't. They want the money. Taco Bell is not and never will be known for its friendly workers; it will, alas, always be known for hiring minimum wage high school, college, or poorly educated workers (my friend Todd being a case in point. Don't drop out of college, kids). So when I go through the drive through, I don't want to be asked how I'm doing. I want to order my cheap food and get on my way, not discuss the shitty day I had at work because a client decided deadlines were silly and inconvenient.
And the fastest way to get over the fake "How are you doing" is by saying "Fine." So the conversation goes like this:
Minimum-wage bored/harassed Taco Bell employee: Hi, how are you doing.
Me: Fine (in spite of fact that the world ended, my husband left me, dog died, radio died, got fired, etc.).
Next: Dead silence. Who speaks next? Technically it's the worker's responsibility to speak next, but are they waiting for me to look at the menu? Awkward like a prom date, only more annoying.
What should I say? "Shitty, thank you, and I'll take a uber-grande enchilada-stuffed taco-wrapped gut bomb. Actually make it a combo."
***
Unfortunately Starbucks, the purveyor of all that is evil and good in the world, has taken to doing the same. Starbucks, of course, is supposed to be friendly (if overly). Fortunately, their slightly-above-minimum-wage-when-you-count-tips workers are good at filling the dead space. Once I didn't answer the whole "How are you doing" thing and the worker said "Sounds like you need some coffee! What can I get you?" which, while annoying, was a pretty good cover and deflected the awkward moment. But still, I'd rather not be asked how I'm doing by a complete stranger who doesn't give a damn.
To both corporations: Desist! I hate it, it's uncomfortable, and until you change it I'm headed to Heidi's Grind (in spite of bikini Fridays) and the local taco wagon, e. coli be damned.
Actually what I'd love to do is incite a mass rebellion, with drive-through-goers sitting at the intercom and moaning and groaning about their bad days to the poor, harried worker who *really* wishes he hadn't asked. Then, maybe, after much horn-honking and lost income, maybe management will get the memo.