Friday, June 21, 2013

Lettuce Bray

I must voice my disapproval! Loudly! I know that comes as a surprise to those of you who know my true cream-filled spongy nature. How it interrupts the tranquility of my favorite pastime of singing lullabies to baskets full of sleeping kittens.

My ire has been roused by the lazy layabout teenage employees of Dairy Queen. It was only a couple of weeks ago that I ordered a Grilled Chicken Salad, and found, upon unbagging it back at home, that they had given me a CRISPY Chicken Salad. I let it go. Because those kittens really needed their rest.

Today I gave those lazy layabout teenage employees of Dairy Queen a second chance. The equivalent of turning the other cheek. But I DID check the salad before I pulled away from the drive-thru. Grilled chicken smiled back at me. All was well. Or so I thought.

I am a bit persnickety about my salad. Again, another surprise, huh? I remove that shredded purple lettuce stuff, because my palate does not approve. Then I scatter the cheese, tomatoes, bacon bits, and shredded carrots evenly. It goes without saying that I hack the grilled chicken into smaller pieces. I am symmetric kind of gal. If I see wilted lettuce, I weed it out. And because I have forked a big hunk of lettuce in the past, I kind of sift through the bowl to see if one needs to be downsized.

This is what I found in the bottom of my Dairy Queen Grilled Chicken Salad today!

This is more than a little too big chunk of lettuce. It is a leviathan. A behemoth. It is a veritable ICEBERG of lettuce! Ninety percent of it is below the surface. That gargantuan gob filled the entire bottom of the bowl. Of course I had to do the undone job of the lettuce-shredder and minimize it. I know Dairy Queen can't be buying their salads pre-made. That would not necessitate a fifteen minute wait at the drive-thru window. It's not like they're grilling the chicken and curing the bacon while I wait. Something has to be taking that long. And surely there's no job title for a salad-compiler in a refrigerated sweatshop like Giant Lettuce Chunk Inserter.

I might as well make my own salad at home. It would be less strenuous.


  1. Val--DQ was my first job. (I was 16.) This is what those slack-abouts are busy doing, since they are NOT double-checking orders and they're NOT chopping the lettuce thoroughly:

    * Getting a plastic spoon full of nuts, dipping it into the hot fudge warmer, and then eating

    * Sneaking into the walk-in, getting a small cup of the DQ "mix" and drinking it (think sweetened cream)

    * Deliberately making the wrong kind of sundae, so you can put the "mistake" in the walk-in so you can eat it later

    So the next time you go to DQ and they screw things up again, you can hiss at them, "I know what you're doing in there! If you don't shape up, I'm gonna sic Sioux on you, and she'll clean this place up. You just wait and see!"

    That will have them shaking in their boots...

  2. When I first saw your picture, I thought it was a baggie of some kind. Whew! Still, your lazy lettuce choppers have a whole bunch of cousins in the St. Louis area, and some of them have absolutely no appreciation for even pickle (or pepperoni) distribution.

  3. I've never ordered a DQ salad. Not sure now if i ever will.

  4. Sioux,
    Thanks for your insider knowledge, though I doubt the lazy teenage layabouts are deliberately making a mistake on my salad to save it for later.

    That pickle distribution syndrome puts me in a sour mood. It abounds here in the greater Backroads area.

    You might as well pick up a head of iceberg lettuce on one of your infrequent shopping trips, and gnaw on it in the car on the way home.