Last week, on the way home from errand-running, I stopped by Taco Bell to pick up some lunch. I don't go there often. It's out-of-the-way unless I'm leaving the immediate Backroads area. I was more likely to patronize this establishment when I was working, since it was on my way home. I rarely did, though, because The Pony did not like the food. Except for the cinnamon twist thingies every now and then.
Well. The Pony isn't here now. And nothing was stopping me. Once I got in line, however, I remembered why we went there so infrequently, even though Hick luurrrves a Beef Burrito Supreme.
I spent 20 minutes in line waiting to pay. That's right. 20 minutes. That is NOT fast food. There were only two cars ahead of me. I swear. It was almost as if the employees made a run for the border, built a wall, climbed it, grew the ingredients, harvested them, climbed back over the wall, tore it down, and stole an aging burro escaped from Grand Canyon tours to ride back to the restaurant, and then prepare my three soft chicken tacos.
[NO POLITICAL COMMENTS! I mean it! I shan't publish them, no matter which side of the wall you're on!]
Anyhoo...I'm being facetious about those employees making a trip to Mexico for the ingredients. That's silly! I could SEE those employees the whole time! Standing around the corner of the building, in plain sight of all nine cars in the drive-thru line, having a smoke and a gossip while we waited.
I was seriously considering driving off. But once you've invested five minutes in your wait already, you think it will just be a few seconds until that line moves. Wrong! I had plenty of time to remember why we didn't go there much. And why I don't leave the window down while waiting, even thought the temps were in the high 60s. I used to complain to The Pony about the smell of sewer gas. His response being, "Um. Look what kind of food you're buying. It's probably from the people who just ate it."
Yes, I certainly re-thought my lunch choice after getting that meal home, and straining my eyes looking for the chicken in my soft chicken tacos. I've never had them from Taco Bell before. But I just didn't feel like eating worm protein that day in my usual choice of soft beef tacos.
But those aren't the most tragic details of my ill-fated fast food meal. Oh, no. It's much, much worse.
THEY GAVE ME THE SENIOR DISCOUNT!
Let the record show that I did NOT ask for the senior discount. That I am not in the habit of receiving a senior discount. That I was at the freakin' DRIVE THRU speaker, by cracky!
WTFNH? (What The Freakin' Not-Heaven?) Does my voice have a shawl draped across its shoulders while it totters past the drive-thru speaker pushing a walker with tennis balls on the feet, its vocal cords done up in a bun like Tweety's grandma's white hair?
I did a little research online. Apparently Taco Bell gives a 5% discount to patrons over 65. VAL IS NOT OVER 65!
AND...my discount equaled 10%! So I must be extra, extra old to get DOUBLE the senior discount. It was printed right on my receipt. SENIOR DISCOUNT. And subtracted, before tax.
It will be a warm day in February before Val gives Taco Bell her return business!