We're Sorry

I've been thinking all day about the first secret I'd unfold. I thought about the many witty, clever situations I could present to you all, in witty, clever fashion with witty, clever vocabulary. Maybe even some sentence variation...

But then, as I was giggling in my own amusement at memories past, I realized that none of them really mattered. They're cute, but they can be saved for a later time.

If for some reason I disappear off of this planet or I'm struck comatose, I want to leave you with something worthwhile---

We. Are. Sorry. We really are. When we say we're sorry, we most definitely definitely deeeefinitely mean it in the most honest, truthful, modest, possible way.

If something turns out incorrect, it's not because:
-We have something against you.
-We're trying to screw up your order for laughs.
-We're bored.
-We're not trying.

When we do mess something up, it IS because:
-We're trying to get your food out to you as fast as possible.
-There was an unavoidable error in communication.
-We misheard.
-And, oh my goodness, the unthinkable: we actually made a mistake!

If you're sitting back and blushing in your chair/bed/couch, thinking "Wow, maybe I'm not treating the employees very well--" then I applaud you. You're the rare breed that has a sensitivity for other human beings.
And if you're part of the VERY rare, awesome breed of people that can grin through a three-minute wait on fries and say "No, it's alright!" then you might deserve a kiss. Or a hug, if you're otherwise obligated.

The Story: I was working an unexpected six-hour shift. I... actually got the hours mixed around; while I thought I was working 5pm to 11pm, I was working 11am to 5pm.
I had to stop in the middle of a movie, the middle of breakfast, and the middle of a philosophical discussion with my mom-- threw my uniform on and bulleted out the door.

It was a really bad time to come in late. Saturday lunch rushes are terrible (almost as bad as Sunday): kids are home and hungry, it's nice out, mom and dad aren't too busy. People were flooding in and I was the only one on front counter.

Now I should tell you, before I go on, that the registers at my particular Wendy's workplace only let employees erase one step without a set of keys (which only a manager has).
Therefore, when some classy family man came in and ordered a medium #2 combo with a coke, I couldn't do anything when he said:
"Hey can I get only tomato, mayo and ketchup on that double--and extra lettuce. And for the chicken club, I need American cheese instead of swiss, and extra tomato. Uh, nevermind; just put two slices of tomato on."
Um.
Yeah okay sure, sir, you got it.
So I wrote it down on the back of a receipt and shoved it in the face of the sandwich maker.
"CAN YOU MAKE THIS?"
She sighed. "I can't keep making these special unless you ring it up."
"I know. I'm sorry."

It took three tries to make those sandwiches correctly. I swear I'd never seen someone's face so red before. He barely said a word to me, never smiled, just kept scowling as he stood in the corner, partially-unwrapped burgers crumpled in his white-knuckled grip.

I was terrified. Would I get written up for this? Fired? Chastised? Oh, heaven forbid that my Manager even take me aside and look at me funny; that'd break my poor little heart.

So I said sorry. I folded my hands and stood in front of the man. I paused, spine curled like a dog with its tail between its legs.
"I cannot express how sorry I am about this. I am so sorry."

He just scowled at me.

Being honest, here, we were trying our best. Everyone was frazzled. It was busy, drive-thru times were sky-high, and there was always a wait on fresh fries. The line never got shorter. We were tragically understaffed and I had come in late, snapping my routine in two, so I was unfocused and jittery.



We're typically good people. If we weren't, we would have been fired a long time ago. Nobody who's not nice (...or at least interesting) can't make it in an industry that relies so heavily on customer service. We try so, so hard to please the customer, that if the customer doesn't acknowledge it, we're nearly heartbroken.



The Meat:
Uh, please, suck it up and at least muster a smile. I'm sure five minutes isn't as long of a wait on meat as it seems. We try our best--if you try your best for us, I promise both sides will leave with a more fulfilling experience.