First, the boys who order after us get their orders after a little while. I'm confused because one of them ordered a Whopper Jr. and they received it before me. The woman who is after the teenagers also receives her order before the registrar finally places a burger on my plate. By that point my friend and I are exchanging looks and muttering, "What's taking so long?" We expect an apology or at least an explanation of some sort, but instead we get our platters shoved to us wordlessly.
We take our food and find seats not far from the register. Even though I'm peeved at the registrar's inconsiderate silence, it's easily forgotten in my hunger. Before digging in however, I go to retrieve the essential to every side of medium fries: ketchup. This BK had a ketchup dispenser near their register which required you to push down on a rod-like thing. There was a bit of mess on the counter top, but I just passed that off as carelessness by the previous ketchup fetcher.
I hold a small paper cup under the ketchup dispenser, give it a push, and it explodes with a huge SPLOOT sound. Basically, my shirt is half-covered in ketchup and drops of it are on my white skirt. I'm so shocked I can only gesture wordlessly to my friend who's sitting not too far away to come help me. We're there trying to get ketchup off me with napkins and nobody is around to help us. The register is empty because there are no customers.
By then I'm mad, but I'm more concerned about the state of my shirt than yelling at some irresponsible worker. A nearby man who noticed everything that was going on came up to the register and caught the attention of the same registrar who served me late.
"Excuse me, your ketchup dispenser is broken," he said, to which the registrar just nodded and started walking away. "Wait a minute, I'm not finished. This young lady--" he points at me, "--was using it and ketchup got all over her shirt. Is there anything you can do to help her?" She looks at me and quickly looks away, flashing a weak smile at the man. "No, sorry," she replies, and starts walking away again.
That same thought seems to cross the man's mind and he calls for the manager, sounding pretty pissed off. The manager then gives me a warm-water soaked towel, apologizes curtly and leaves. I thank the man who stuck up for me, clean myself off, and sit back down to start my meal.
Meanwhile, the registrar keeps staring over at us from the register. She even calls out to the group of teenagers sitting not far from us and hands over a free hamburger to them. Gee, how generous of her.
At some point I turn to my friend. "Eljay moment," we both say, and laugh.