Through The Weeds.

My work experience lies in healthcare and automotive; I have only seen the effects of "out in the weeds" as a customer.

I know everybody needs a little kindness, there's enough meanness going on -- that's why I'm quiet about it. It could mean I'm too scared to speak out and tell somebody they screwed up; it could mean I don't do well with "confrontation," it could mean that I've let the theories of retail friendliness get too deeply ingrained in my habits; but I'm choosing to believe the theory that Anne and I talked about the other night -- I'm a reasonable adult, therefore I'm not mean to people, no matter how much I can't stand 'em. Not directly, anyway.

Have I mentioned how completely awesome it is to be back in touch with Anne? She found me on F@ceBook and getting that e-mail made me get all jumpy and giggly!

Now, just like we talked about, I'm not gonna be mean to a waiter or waitress, 'cause it's just not right. The tip will shrink if the drinks don't stay full or an empty chip basket gets ignored, but I've watched way too many people pitch little fits and I just don't want to be remembered as that person who acted all nasty. I guess it's a case of "don't be that guy."

We tend to keep going back to the places we like -- somewhere between the kindness and the tips, we're remembered as being friendly, and we're usually fairly well taken care of. I don't want to be that person that people see comin' and think "Ugh, not again..."

Things seem to go easier if you can just be friendly...

Everybody was workin' hard to be friendly, but it might not have really been workin' today at lunch.

Fast food is completely different though...

I still try my best for quiet kindness though, 'cause seriously, if they were our best and brightest, they wouldn't be workin' in fast food, now would they?

I have no idea how anybody could get so "Out In The Weeds" when there are five people working and only two customers waiting for food, but the folks at the chicken joint were out in the weeds today.

It could be due to the guy who couldn't make up his mind what to spend his dollar bill and handful of coins for taking way too long to decide between chicken, potatoes, beans or a drink, dumping the entire contents of his pockets on the floor along with change and a big handful of only-God-knows what kind of pills -- finally settling on one piece of chicken all by itself; who knows...

The place started fillin' up, and since I wasn't all that interested in closeness with strangers or watching a gangsta mug the guy with the pills, all I could think about was getting my seven dinners and getting outta there.

Seven of us at work today, seven dinners, five with steak fingers, two with chicken strips. Five plus two is seven.

I had to wait a while, but I was glad to make it outta there without hearing anybody try to scam a free drink for havin' to wait -- oh, and in case you ever wondered, at this particular chicken joint, the most popular variety of that scam would be a "Schtrawwwbereh Drank."

The lady workin' the front counter, the one who was oh-so-patient with Mr. One-Piece with coins, she just made my day when she finally said my order was ready. I was sooo glad to get outta there, I just grabbed the bag and made a break for the car.

I was stopped at the second stoplight when I realized there were only six dinners in the bag.

There was no way I was goin' back in there with a confusing receipt and a complaint about bein' short a box.

If they were the best and brightest, they'd be able to count to seven and they wouldn't be workin' in fast food...

I really enjoyed that peanut butter sandwich.

More later... _\,,/