Tales from a Late Night Drive Through

No generalities, trivia, or insider information tonight.

No.

Tonight, dear reader, you get an anecdote. An example at once outstanding and representative. An illustration of what we, the minimum-wage-slaves on the closing shift are sometimes treated to. You see, by the light of day, cleaning duties get in the way of serving the customers. As night falls, the customers can get in the way of the cleaning duties. But every once in a while, there's a customer that... takes your mind off of the long night of scrubbing ahead of you. And this tale is no exception.

There was a full moon. This should have been A Warning. It's well documented that assault and ice-cream sales go up on a full moon. And whether you believe in lycanthropy or not, there's no question that cool grey orb brings... something out in people.

Of course it was 15 minutes before closing. The order sounded normal enough over the headset: A combo meal and a couple of extra sandwiches off the dollar-menu. The car full of youngsters that pulled up to the window seemed normal enough: Late teens or early twenties, with only slightly more than the usual (for New England) amount of Redsox paraphanelia on. After greeting him, and reminding him of his total ($5.85) I asked the driver (in both Sox hat and shirt) if he knew the score of tonight's Redsox game. He didn't.

This should have been A Sign.

Still, I blithely let the driver and his passenger fish around for their money. Seconds lingered, then started to gather into some serious awkwardness. Finally, the driver smiled, and handed me a single.

"I have a dollar." There was no apology. No tone of shame or even inquiry. A mere statement of fact. Nothing followed. Clearly I was going to have to take charge of this interaction. I leaned back in the window and told our sandwich maker to stop making sandwiches. Then, I leaned back out the window.

"Okay, you can have one of the two dollar-menu sandwiches. Which one do you want?" There was no sign of comprehension. It was becoming clear that the driver's expectation was that he would be handed a beverage and a bag full of food, and then he would drive away. Alternatives had not yet occurred to him.

"Do you want the one that's plain, or the one with everything?" I expected one of the guys in the back to chime in, or for the driver to consult them. His passengers, however, were no more helpful than their fearless leader.

"Listen, you can have one sandwich," (even as I pulled the change out of my pocket to pay the tax on it) "you just have to decide whether you want the plain on or the one with everything.

Still slightly perplexed the driver finally replied "The plain one I guess." I shared this information with the sandwich maker, whose fingers danced the burger together. I handed this bagged treat out the window, and bid our hero goodnight.

He (and his automobile full of youth and wasted potential) just sat there.

"Anything else I can get for you?" I inquired cheerily.

"Um... water?" I didn't even ask if he wanted bottles or cups, and dispensed one of our smallish cups full of ice water.

Again, absence of locomotion.

"Something else?"

"Can I have a couple more?"

Two more waters out the window, and finally the boy-genius remembered to use his words. "We'll get our money and be back for the food."

"Okey-doke. We close in 15 minutes, so you'd better hurry. But drive carefully!" The last thing I needed on my conscience was a bunch of dead teenagers wrapped around a tree with my urgings of speed the last thing that passed through their minds before the windshield.

Not, on the face of it, all that unusual an interaction. We went back to cleaning, scrubbing, and shutting down everything we could before the actual close of business, wondering if we'd seen our last customers.

Ha! We hadn't even seen the last of THOSE customers.

Two minutes to closing, the drive-through sensor dinged in our headsets. "Hi! What can we get for you?"

"Um... just two waters?"

"Sure, pull on up." It was far from the strangest request we'd gotten (grilled cheese?!?!?!?) and easy enough to fulfill. I was already hanging the two cups out the window before I recognized the driver.

He looked at the cups with complete non-comprehension.

"Your waters..."

Now he was looking at me as if I was slow. "You already gave us water, remember? We came back for our food."

Ah! They must have made it home (or to an ATM) in time. With only a few requests for clarification, I managed to reconstruct and re-ring in their order. "That comes to 4.74"

Again, the blank stare.

"That comes to four dollars and seventy-four cents..."

And again, as though I was the one who didn't understand: "We don't have any more money."

Here, my instincts for customer service failed me. All I could muster was "Um."

Eventually the driver explained "We thought we lost our money in the parking lot, but we couldn't find it." Then the thick black silence resumed.

A thought occurred. I leaned back in the window and asked our sandwich maker to cease sandwich-making activities once more. Miraculously, they threw nothing.

"I'm afraid that without any money, there's nothing I can do for you."

This thought had clearly not occurred to this merry wanderer of the night.

"Oh. So... Oh." Then, seemingly without regret, remorse, or indeed any acknowledgement that this exchange was in any way unusual, the band of hungry misfits drove off on further adventures.

I wish them well. Retelling (and laughing about) their tale to my co-workers got me through the rest of the shift. And for that I owe them. I hope the made it to their final destination. And I hope they found nourishment. And above all, I hope someone clarifies this currency thing to them eventually.

Drive safely New England. And stay weird. Bored fast-food monkeys everywhere are counting on you.