We had an appointment with a contractor a few years ago. We were finishing the plans and the contract to build a new home and were trying to work it during the noon hour. I was away from my office and She Who Must be Obeyed had told her employer she was going to have to take a long lunch so we could work it all in. Our builder lived several miles away and we had to have enough time to finish our tasks.
While driving to see him we decided to stop at a Braums to get a hamburger for lunch. For those unfamiliar with them, Braums is a regional dairy which markets their milk by selling it through their own stores. Free standing stores, it was a convenient stop to purchase milk and milk products and their stores have grown into small markets with an ever widening list of products. They also sell ice cream and ice cream products and have a grill where you can buy hamburgers, fries and other such items.
It was a little before noon when we entered. There weren’t many other people there yet, none in line to be served. We went to place our order and were helped by a young woman who was obviously a little challenged. It appeared likely that they were hiring disadvantaged persons, thus getting some tax credits from the state. In a slow, deliberate drawl, sounding like she was fresh from the set of To Kill a Mockingbird (the poor side of the track) she asked, “Whatta you want?”
She Who Must be Obeyed looked up at the menu and replied, “I’ll have a number 4 with a Diet Coke.” I looked at the menu and saw that it pictured a very nice looking hamburger, fries and a Coke. That looked good to me. She slowly punched the appropriate buttons on the cash register.
“Whatta you want?” she asked me.
Knowing we were in a bit of a hurry, I said, “I’ll take a number 4 with coffee.” I started getting my wallet out to pay for it.
“You cain’t have coffee,” she said. (That isn’t a misspelled word. She didn’t say “can’t”, she said “cain’t”, with a long “A” sound, drawing it out and making it a much longer word than necessary for most communication.) She had said, “You cain’t have coffee.”
I thought she was of the impression that they didn’t have any coffee but she was mistaken. I had just seen someone place two pots of freshly brewed coffee on the warmer so I explained it to her. “Sure I can,” I said, “they just put some fresh coffee out there.”
“You cain’t have coffee,” she repeated, speaking a little slower and more deliberately than before just to make sure I could understand her. I thought I could detect her upper lip curling.
“Why not?” I asked.
She looked at me in a condescending manner, rolled her eyes and jerked her head in a manner that forced me to look up at the menu. “It don’t come with coffee, it comes with a soft drink!”
I looked up at the menu and, sure enough, there was a picture of what you get with a number 4: a hamburger, fries and a soft drink. I returned to look at her and she was glaring at me as if I was trying to get something for nothing. I was playing outside the box and it was her job to protect the integrity of its walls. It was her job, right at that moment, to keep me from trying to make changes to the menu and, by God, she was going to do her job.
I didn’t want to get into an argument or even a spirited conversation with her. I was highly educated and above average intelligence. As I said, she was obviously challenged and it would have been an unfair exchange. She should not have wanted to argue with me. For that matter, she should have been thankful for the opportunity to simply talk to me. It should have been the highlight of her day. But, here she was missing the magnanimity of the moment by declaring herself the Guardian of the Coffee Pot.
“I don’t want a soft drink,” I said, “I want coffee.”
“It don’t come with coffee, it comes with a soft drink,” she replied.
“But I want coffee.”
“You cain’t have coffee!” She was emphatic.
I tried to reason with her. “I’m sure management doesn’t care if I get coffee rather than a soft drink,” I explained.
Again, she would have no part of that plea. “It don’t come with coffee, it comes with a soft drink.” She was clipping her words, speaking even more slowly just in case she was dealing with a simpleton who didn’t understand plain English.
I decided to approach it from another direction. Perhaps if I explained why I wanted it she would be sympathetic. “Look,” I said, “I like coffee. No, I don’t just like it, I love it. And just recently I had coffee with a sandwich and I was amazed how these flavors combined to form their own unique taste. I tried the flavor combinations of a hamburger and coffee. It was incredible. I loved it. I want coffee.”
It made no dent in her armor. She was just all the more resolved to stand firm against my wishes. “You cain’t have no coffee,” she said, almost yelling. “It don’t come with coffee, it comes with a soft drink.”
This had been going on several minutes when She Who Must be Obeyed interrupted us. I thought she might have been on my side but she said to me, “Just get it with a Coke so we can get on down the road.”
“No, I want coffee,” I answered in a very calm voice.
“You’re holding up the line,” she said. I looked and saw there were about six people patiently standing there to order.
“No,” I said, “I want coffee. And, besides, these people are on my side. I’m taking a stand not just for me but for them and everyone else who comes in here wanting to order what they want.” None of them seemed to be impatient about waiting too long while I got what I wanted.
She Who Must be Obeyed turned to the girl at the register. “Do you have my order?” she asked.
The girl looked down at her register and replied, “A number 4 with a Diet Coke?”
“That’s it,” said She Who Must be Obeyed. And then, to me she said, “I’m sitting down. Come on over to the table when you’re through.” And with that she left me alone.
I turned my attention to the clerk again. I said, “I really want coffee with that order.”
“You cain’t have coffee! It don’t come with coffee! It comes with a soft drink!” She was standing her ground. I was standing there alone with no one watching my back and she knew it and was savoring the moment.
I came up with an argument she was obviously missing. “Look, maam, you make more profit selling coffee than a soft drink. A soft drink requires water, carbonated water, syrup and ice. With coffee, it’s just coffee and water, that’s all. I don’t even put cream in it. Or sugar. Coffee and water. You’ll make more money off the coffee than you would off a soft drink.” Surely, appealing to her monetary nature would work. After all, Braums was there to make money, no other reason than that.
She leaned forward over the register. “It don’t come with coffee,” she said, as if I hadn’t heard that before, “it comes with a soft drink.”
I was quiet for awhile. I tried to think of another argument in my favor but I had already called out the best in my play book, personal taste and economic arguments, and nothing had worked. I looked behind me and saw 12 to 15 people now standing in line to be served. And their pleasant, supportive looks were replaced with looks of impatience. They didn’t have any more time than I did. We were limited in how much time we could spend at lunch and I was using too much of it arguing with this young lady who controlled the register.
I turned back to her, hung my head and said in a low voice only she could hear, “You’re not going to let me have coffee with that, are you?”
“No,” she replied, “it don’t come with coffee, it comes with a. . . .”
“Yes, yes,” I interpreted, “I understand, ‘it don’t come with coffee,’ it comes with a soft drink.”
“That’s right,” she said.
I hesitated and then, “Please let me have a number 4,” I said.
She slowly punched the appropriate button on the register. “One number 4,” she echoed. “And what would you like to drink with that?” she asked, glaring at me while awaiting my announcement.
“I’d like a Diet Coke with that,” I said.
“One Diet Coke,” she said as she poked the Diet Coke button on the register. She was a little smug as she cast a glance in my direction. “Will there be anything else?” she asked.
“Yes maam,” I answered, “I’d like a cup of coffee.”
The request startled her but only for a moment. Regaining her composure, she said, “I’ll have to charge you for that.”
“I would expect nothing else,” I replied.
She slowly punched the coffee button on the register. “Will there be anything else?”
“Yes maam,” I said. “You know that Diet Coke I ordered.”
“Yes.”
“Please don’t make it. I’m not going to drink it and it would be a waste to make it and just throw it out.”
“Okay,” she agreed.
While driving to see him we decided to stop at a Braums to get a hamburger for lunch. For those unfamiliar with them, Braums is a regional dairy which markets their milk by selling it through their own stores. Free standing stores, it was a convenient stop to purchase milk and milk products and their stores have grown into small markets with an ever widening list of products. They also sell ice cream and ice cream products and have a grill where you can buy hamburgers, fries and other such items.
It was a little before noon when we entered. There weren’t many other people there yet, none in line to be served. We went to place our order and were helped by a young woman who was obviously a little challenged. It appeared likely that they were hiring disadvantaged persons, thus getting some tax credits from the state. In a slow, deliberate drawl, sounding like she was fresh from the set of To Kill a Mockingbird (the poor side of the track) she asked, “Whatta you want?”
She Who Must be Obeyed looked up at the menu and replied, “I’ll have a number 4 with a Diet Coke.” I looked at the menu and saw that it pictured a very nice looking hamburger, fries and a Coke. That looked good to me. She slowly punched the appropriate buttons on the cash register.
“Whatta you want?” she asked me.
Knowing we were in a bit of a hurry, I said, “I’ll take a number 4 with coffee.” I started getting my wallet out to pay for it.
“You cain’t have coffee,” she said. (That isn’t a misspelled word. She didn’t say “can’t”, she said “cain’t”, with a long “A” sound, drawing it out and making it a much longer word than necessary for most communication.) She had said, “You cain’t have coffee.”
I thought she was of the impression that they didn’t have any coffee but she was mistaken. I had just seen someone place two pots of freshly brewed coffee on the warmer so I explained it to her. “Sure I can,” I said, “they just put some fresh coffee out there.”
“You cain’t have coffee,” she repeated, speaking a little slower and more deliberately than before just to make sure I could understand her. I thought I could detect her upper lip curling.
“Why not?” I asked.
She looked at me in a condescending manner, rolled her eyes and jerked her head in a manner that forced me to look up at the menu. “It don’t come with coffee, it comes with a soft drink!”
I looked up at the menu and, sure enough, there was a picture of what you get with a number 4: a hamburger, fries and a soft drink. I returned to look at her and she was glaring at me as if I was trying to get something for nothing. I was playing outside the box and it was her job to protect the integrity of its walls. It was her job, right at that moment, to keep me from trying to make changes to the menu and, by God, she was going to do her job.
I didn’t want to get into an argument or even a spirited conversation with her. I was highly educated and above average intelligence. As I said, she was obviously challenged and it would have been an unfair exchange. She should not have wanted to argue with me. For that matter, she should have been thankful for the opportunity to simply talk to me. It should have been the highlight of her day. But, here she was missing the magnanimity of the moment by declaring herself the Guardian of the Coffee Pot.
“I don’t want a soft drink,” I said, “I want coffee.”
“It don’t come with coffee, it comes with a soft drink,” she replied.
“But I want coffee.”
“You cain’t have coffee!” She was emphatic.
I tried to reason with her. “I’m sure management doesn’t care if I get coffee rather than a soft drink,” I explained.
Again, she would have no part of that plea. “It don’t come with coffee, it comes with a soft drink.” She was clipping her words, speaking even more slowly just in case she was dealing with a simpleton who didn’t understand plain English.
I decided to approach it from another direction. Perhaps if I explained why I wanted it she would be sympathetic. “Look,” I said, “I like coffee. No, I don’t just like it, I love it. And just recently I had coffee with a sandwich and I was amazed how these flavors combined to form their own unique taste. I tried the flavor combinations of a hamburger and coffee. It was incredible. I loved it. I want coffee.”
It made no dent in her armor. She was just all the more resolved to stand firm against my wishes. “You cain’t have no coffee,” she said, almost yelling. “It don’t come with coffee, it comes with a soft drink.”
This had been going on several minutes when She Who Must be Obeyed interrupted us. I thought she might have been on my side but she said to me, “Just get it with a Coke so we can get on down the road.”
“No, I want coffee,” I answered in a very calm voice.
“You’re holding up the line,” she said. I looked and saw there were about six people patiently standing there to order.
“No,” I said, “I want coffee. And, besides, these people are on my side. I’m taking a stand not just for me but for them and everyone else who comes in here wanting to order what they want.” None of them seemed to be impatient about waiting too long while I got what I wanted.
She Who Must be Obeyed turned to the girl at the register. “Do you have my order?” she asked.
The girl looked down at her register and replied, “A number 4 with a Diet Coke?”
“That’s it,” said She Who Must be Obeyed. And then, to me she said, “I’m sitting down. Come on over to the table when you’re through.” And with that she left me alone.
I turned my attention to the clerk again. I said, “I really want coffee with that order.”
“You cain’t have coffee! It don’t come with coffee! It comes with a soft drink!” She was standing her ground. I was standing there alone with no one watching my back and she knew it and was savoring the moment.
I came up with an argument she was obviously missing. “Look, maam, you make more profit selling coffee than a soft drink. A soft drink requires water, carbonated water, syrup and ice. With coffee, it’s just coffee and water, that’s all. I don’t even put cream in it. Or sugar. Coffee and water. You’ll make more money off the coffee than you would off a soft drink.” Surely, appealing to her monetary nature would work. After all, Braums was there to make money, no other reason than that.
She leaned forward over the register. “It don’t come with coffee,” she said, as if I hadn’t heard that before, “it comes with a soft drink.”
I was quiet for awhile. I tried to think of another argument in my favor but I had already called out the best in my play book, personal taste and economic arguments, and nothing had worked. I looked behind me and saw 12 to 15 people now standing in line to be served. And their pleasant, supportive looks were replaced with looks of impatience. They didn’t have any more time than I did. We were limited in how much time we could spend at lunch and I was using too much of it arguing with this young lady who controlled the register.
I turned back to her, hung my head and said in a low voice only she could hear, “You’re not going to let me have coffee with that, are you?”
“No,” she replied, “it don’t come with coffee, it comes with a. . . .”
“Yes, yes,” I interpreted, “I understand, ‘it don’t come with coffee,’ it comes with a soft drink.”
“That’s right,” she said.
I hesitated and then, “Please let me have a number 4,” I said.
She slowly punched the appropriate button on the register. “One number 4,” she echoed. “And what would you like to drink with that?” she asked, glaring at me while awaiting my announcement.
“I’d like a Diet Coke with that,” I said.
“One Diet Coke,” she said as she poked the Diet Coke button on the register. She was a little smug as she cast a glance in my direction. “Will there be anything else?” she asked.
“Yes maam,” I answered, “I’d like a cup of coffee.”
The request startled her but only for a moment. Regaining her composure, she said, “I’ll have to charge you for that.”
“I would expect nothing else,” I replied.
She slowly punched the coffee button on the register. “Will there be anything else?”
“Yes maam,” I said. “You know that Diet Coke I ordered.”
“Yes.”
“Please don’t make it. I’m not going to drink it and it would be a waste to make it and just throw it out.”
“Okay,” she agreed.
