Unhelpful

I go to the McDonald’s drive-through. The speaker comes on and a girl asks me for my order.

“Number five, super size, with a Coke.”
“Number seven?”
“No, number five.”
“And what would you like to drink?”
“Coke…”
“That’ll be $3.64. Please drive through.”
“No, that’s the wrong price. You forgot to super size the order.”
“OK, please drive through.”

I drive through. And of course, the first thing I’m handed is a small Coke by someone other than the girl who took my order. I start to reach for it, catch myself, and pull my hand back.

“No, this is supposed to be a super size coke.”
“Oh yeah, you had the number seven?”
“No, I had the number five, super sized, with a Coke.”

Folks, this is not rocket science.

At least it wasn’t Wendy’s. Service at McDonald’s varies greatly from place to place, but I have yet to go to a Wendy’s that was anything less than an exercise in aggrivation. My favorite is when they’re the last place around that’s open, and you’re waiting in their drive through for ten minutes before they even acknowledge your presence.

And while I’m on the subject, what the hell is up with late-night drive throughs? Here’s a big fucking hint:
If your drive through is closed, TURN OFF YOUR FUCKING DRIVE-THROUGH SIGN LIGHT.