Taco Hell

(This is a tale that bears repeating. I penned this last spring, and damned if it didn't just happen again. Enjoy.)


Far be it from me to give fast food workers shit, but I had the WORST experience this afternoon at the local Taco Bell.

I was lured in by the promises of their new delicious Cheesy Crunchy Gordita Mondo Taco (or something like that, who the hell knows?) So I did what you do when you are craving a CCGMT; I pulled into the drivethru and the dance of madness began:

Order taker: Hi! Welcome to Taco Bell! Which combo would you like?
Bumbling Customer (Me): Uhhhhhhhhh, I don't want a combo. I would like a Cheesy Crunchy Gordita (I kind of trailed off at this point). The new thing. I would like one of those.

Order taker: Anything else?

Me: Yes please. A small Coke

Order taker: I am sorry sir (Sir?!) We only have Pepsi products.

Me (trying to sound more feminine): Pepsi would be fine.

Order taker: Hold for a moment please.

- - - - - - - - - time lapse 3 minutes, I kid you not - - - - - - - - - -

Order taker: Hi! Welcome to Taco Bell! Which combo would you like?

Me: Thanks for the second welcome. I'd like to talk to the old order taker, he already knows what I want.

(lots of murmuring and static)

Order taker: Sorry sir (Goddamnit! Sir again?!?!) Can you repeat your order? My headset went out. (Did it take the other kid that was taking orders out with it?)

Me: I would like a Cheesy Gordita Super Taco

Order taker: I'm sorry, we don't have that. Would you like a Mexican pizza?

Me: (Did I ask for a fucking Mexican pizza? - that is what I said in my head) Um, I just want the new thing that you have on the sign here.

Order taker: Did you mean the Cheesy Crunchy Gordita Super Taco?

Me: (banging my head against the steering wheel) Yes . . . . . please.

Order taker: Anything else with that?

Me: Yes. A small Pepsi.

Order taker: Thank you sir, please drive around.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

So, as I dutifully drive around, I notice that the parking lot of this place is a ghost town, nobody, anywhere. The kid at the window was probably about 16, and a very angry, stout, middle-aged latino lady was yelling at him. Now, I remember a little high school Spanish, and I can guarantee you that she was NOT asking him where the party was, or whether Marta and Juan were cousins. Beyond that, your guess is as good as mine.

I am handed a drink and after a great while, a paper bag that weighed no less than 3 pounds. The kid closes the glass window, and I peek in the bag, as you probably would if you had just been handed a 3 pound taco.

I cannot tell you what conglomeration of crap was in that bag. Two misshapen food items that looked like rolls of uncooked refrigerator biscuits, and several packets of Fiery sauce and some krinkly things.

So, I politely wave to the young man, and I swear he is looking my way, but he is just staring. Not drooling, exactly, but close. No response.

I beep the horn, nothing.

I finally drive around the building, and go back to the order window.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Order taker: Hi! Welcome to Taco Bell! Which combo would you like?

Me: Hi, yeah. I am the person from just a minute ago. Can you meet me at the pickup window?

Order taker: Can you repeat your order?

Me: (in as clear a voice as I can muster while leaning out of th window with my hands cupped around my mouth) Please open the pickup window when I drive around!

Order taker: (crickets chirping)
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

When I drive back around, the kid is kind of desperately looking at the register and adjusting his headset. When he opens the window, he squints at me as though I have just dropped out of the sky. I wordlessly hand him the bag, and he says . . . . .
Did you need sauce?

At this point, I explain to him that I would never have waited outside his window, honked my horn, driven around his building, summoned him through his drive thru speaker and handed him a full bag of food if indeed I was seeking additional sauce. I calmly inform him that I have received some small family's order.

At this point, he stomps his foot and throws the sauce packets he had ready to pacify me down onto the counter. "Dang!" he mumbles, and starts looking around on the floor, I suppose just in case my order happened to be around his feet.

It is at this moment that the matronly latino approaches the window, and asks him what the problem is. He begins to explain that I received the wrong order, and she begins yelling at him again, and reached behind him and produces a bag that I am guessing contains my order. From the look on this kid's face, you would have thought she had just pulled a quarter out of his ear. More yapping ensues, and I am just sitting there, watching and sipping my Pepsi.

So, I make an executive decision at this point. "Can I just get a refund, and you two can work all of this out later?" I ask.

Wordlessly, he hands me $2.37. Never mind that I actually gave him $4.65. I was glad to get it.

As I sit here, I summon the strength of all of my years of study of the beautiful lauguage of Spain and one lyrical phrase forms in my mind:

Yo no quiero Taco Bell.