I don’t go to McDonald’s often (I’m more of a Burger King person), but occasionally I’m in the mood for McD’s hamburgers. The one right near my house is usually very good (the biggest fault being that they get really busy and instead of moving faster, move significantly slower), but since I was taking a nice drive tonight, I decided to stop at the one a couple miles from my house. Mistake #1. (Mistake #2 being that I could have continued down the same road right to my “home” McD’s.)
I pulled up, ordered, and got my total: $4.82. I pull out a ten and eighty-two cents, pull around, and give it to the young man at the window. He hands me a dollar bill, then turns away.
I tried everything. I honked my horn, shouted, waved my hands at the tee-heeing chick who was there looking straight at me, but I could not get anyone’s attention. It’s like I was suddenly invisible.
Finally my food arrives and the guy turns around and hands it to me, and I try to explain the problem:
Me: *holding up the dollar* I gave you a ten. (I said it nicely, my tone saying “Hey, I don’t know if you noticed, but . . . ” because I’ve had customers try to scam me in the past.)
Him: Uh, I think you gave me a five.
Me: No, I gave you a ten and eighty-two cents. (Because besides another dollar bill in my wallet, that’s all I had.)
Him: I don’t think so.
Me: I think so, and I’d like you to give me my correct change, please. (Five bucks is not a tremendous amount, but as a student working part-time, I can't just give away fivers.)
At this point I’m willing to pull ahead, go inside, and speak with a manager, or pull into a parking spot and wait while they count the drawer. I know I had it right, but at this point I don’t want this guy to get in trouble. Instead he whispers with the tee-heeing brunette, and after a minute thrusts a five out at me as if to say “Take your fuckin’ money and get out of here.”
I took it with a pleasant “Thank you,” and then leaned forward and left my parting shot: “You know, if you weren’t so concerned with talking to each other, maybe you could better pay attention to the denominations people hand you.”
Part of me wants to call/write and complain, but then part of me wants to leave it be; sooner or later he’ll end up stiffing someone with a much shorter temper than I.