Fooling Myself

It'd been a while since I had eaten.

I didn't do dinner the night before and it was only coffee that morning, so I was hungry. I had several errands to run and thought I would just grab something on the fly.

The problem however was that between work and my destinations the quick in-and-out food purchasing options were practically nil. With the exception of my old nemesis: McCrappage.

*sigh*

Begrudgingly, I pulled into the drive-thru line and decided on a chipotle Angus burger. How bad could it really be? I'd had the mushroom and swiss Angus concoction previously and it was passable. I noted on one of the decorative lawn signs beside the order kiosk a picture with the burger I wanted spilling out red onion, so I made certain to place my order sans condiment. I don't like red onion. Matter'n fact, I verified it with the guy who took my request.

This may have been a mistake.

You see: While the burger was tasteless ... while the bacon on the burger had an inclination toward cardboardy-ness ... while I was thankful the overly pungent chipotle sauce slathered on the sandwich at least gave it some sort of flavor, I believe the red onion I asked to be held may have actually made the meal appreciative. Because, let me tell you something: This particular lunch? One I'll tuck in the back of my mind as a "order if desperate only" selection.

I keep fooling myself food at McCrappage will be good. It has to be every once in a while ... right? Especially if you're famished ... right? Anything's good when you're famished ... right? Right?

Right ... ?!?

Bueller??? Bueller ... ???

................................... Ruprecht ( STOP )

Customer Service Done Right

This is the way it should be done:

I ventured into Claro's Italian Market early Saturday afternoon to pick up a couple sandwiches my cousin ordered. I was greeted by a full house, everybody and his brother seemingly "shopping Italian", looking for authentic foodstuffs for the weekend ... or to possibly whip up that special Valentine's meal two days hence.

Wandering over to the deli counter, I realized I needed to grab a number for "more efficient service". Understand, this isn't your standard "gimme half a pound of mortadella" and you're out the door; the folks purchasing meats and cheeses and whatnot linger and consider and question. So, if you're in a hurry, Claro's isn't the best choice for you to get in, get out.

A good 12 minutes in, my number was finally called: "Number 76!" by a loud and bit gruff deli dude. I tossed my number in a throw-away bucket and told him I was here to pick up a call-in order.

"Dude: You should have told me as soon as you got here ... you didn't have to wait around," he stated. As it turned out, it wouldn't have made a difference as they hadn't even started the sandwiches called in 30 minutes prior.

"Look ... sorry ... let me do this: I have some excellent roast beef on the slicer. Want a sample?" He was obviously in a mode to make up for the faux pas.

"Only if you have a little horseradish jack you can slap atop it," I commented.

"Done," he answered.

Inside 15 seconds, I was munching on a thinly sliced, rolled up layer of roast beef with an equally thin slice of exquisite tangy white jack nestled within. It was deli heaven.

"Isn't that outstanding?" he cajoled. "Now, I don't know about you, but make a grilled cheese out of that particular jack, add some hot tomato soup along with it and you have something satisfying." He slapped the counter. "Your sandwiches will be up in a minute ..."

But, before he left, I told him: "You know, you're good, you. You're a salesman. And not in a bad way. Give me a quarter pound of beef and cheese, please."

He smiled. "Thanks. Tell my boss I'm good. He's right behind you, down the aisle there ..."

I proceeded to do just that. I walked half an aisle down and confronted his superior while he took care of my order. His boss looked up as I approached, seeing I wanted his attention.

"Hey guy ... I just wanted to let you know: That gentleman there?" I pointed at him behind the counter "He's good. You might want to keep him around for a while."

The Boss smirked. "Good to hear. Because I was gonna fire his ass at the beginning of the week. Thanks." We both smiled at each other and as I returned to the counter, I was handed my sandwiches and my meat and cheese, professionally, tightly and neatly wrapped.

And that's what customer service is all about: Servicing the customer. Pleasantly offering advice ... samples ... friendliness to a stranger ... unencumbered assistance.

Deli Dude did his job and knew he did it well, made an extra little sale to boot.

And I got something I wasn't expecting: Faith and assurance there are still people out there who know how to work customer service in the big, bad world ...

............... Ruprecht ( STOP )

People Are People …

There are certain things said which are totally worth it.

This is one of those things …

............... Ruprecht ( STOP )

Better

You know what would make this show better?

If the name was changed to:

“Million Dollar Monkey Drop”

............... Ruprecht ( STOP )

I Think Her Name Was 'Dakota'

Today, as I sat and ate lunch in my car, I saw a woman sitting on a bench waiting for a bus.

And she was good.

How good was she? You be the judge:

It was about 59°F degrees outside. Yet she was in a bare-armed tanktop, she was continually drinking from a soft drink container and she fanned herself incessantly.

As a matter of fact, after about 5 minutes of fanning, she put on a big, bulky jacket ... apparently because she grew cold from all the fanning she did.

I mean … this woman was that good …

............... Ruprecht ( STOP )

A Rather Boring Experiment

I call McDonald's 'McCrappage' for a reason. I mean: Is there any reason I need to explain myself, people?

No ... I didn't think so.

Still, I'll admit to getting the occasional hankering for a Big Mac. Thankfully, those times are few and far between.

But, a week ago, I did something I wouldn't normally do (I hope you're sitting down): I ventured into a McDonald's and ordered a McRib sandwich.

Truth be told, it was an experiment more than anything else.

The way I figured it, I'd been working my ass off all day and, being McCrappage was the closest thing around, the remainder of the day's physical work would surely burn off any ill effects some McMysteryMeat on a bun might conjure up.

Yes, I've heard the wild tales involving people venturing hundreds of miles to satisfy their McRib cravings when they discover a McDonald's hours away is running the rare promotion. I've read of a few of these folks 'stocking up' on their needed BBQ sauce drowned fix, purchasing dozens at a time. (What in the world do they do with them? Eat them all at one sitting? Munch them continually over the course of days? Freeze'em for later consumption?) I've witnessed the frenzied looks of some overcome by the mere mention of a McRib. Sure, some of these stories are probably true, some fact-based ... and some so fantastical as to be fabricated, a result of hearing a 15-second radio spot for their beloved meal.

So, I decided to check out this sandwich for myself.

Sitting down with my purchase in a crowded Saturday McDonald's, I opened the container and discovered my order was misconstructed to begin with; I requested extra pickles and no onion. I got just the opposite - tons of onion, nary a pickle. (The beginning of my experience wasn't looking on the bright side from the get-go.)


Correcting the mistake in a (surprisingly) short amount of time, I sat down again, looked at the sandwich once more and took it all in: Oozing barbeque sauce dribbled down the sides of the sandwich. I wondered why so much sauce was necessary. Could this have been the work of an over-zealous employee? Or was this how it was supposed to look?

I took a deep breath and dove in. Savoring the flavor (I use the term loosely), I tried to come up with an appropriate adjective or two for the experience .... and couldn't.


You see, the taste I was met with was rather ... underwhelming. There was a hint of porky flavor to the sandwich, but it was overpowered by the abundance of sauce it was slathered in. 'Meh' was the best thing I could come up with. No taste explosion, not even that good, really ... but not in the least bit bad or repulsive, as some people have proffered.

I continued eating. I was hungry, after all. I needed fuel for the remainder of the day. I kept chewing, taking yet another bite, looking for something - anything - that hinted at what others found so enticing about a McRib. For the life of me, I just couldn't come up with a single idea as to its popularity.

Will I order one again? No. There's just nothing at all exciting about it, nothing that left me with an impression. Surely, nothing that would make me order another one down the line.

So, I'm confused: What's all the hoopla about? Why do so many people get whipped into a frothy herd mentality frenzy over this completely unremarkable fast food McBlandwich?

I. Don't. Know.

............... Ruprecht ( STOP )

It's Got That Bad Graphicky Taste, Y'know?

I don't really know how something like this happens.

But it did.

The cup my Coca Cola came in today ... a cup exactly like the one above (and which was the subject of one of my photoblog posts March 10th of this year)?

Well, it tasted exactly like that cup looks. I'm not kidding. It wasn't pleasant.

Imagine that, if you will .....

........................ Ruprecht ( STOP )