Wendy's vs. The Baldwins

My family doesn’t tend to worship food as much as the average American, but we do eat, and there are times when we can get “serious” about the subject of food. One of those memorable moments was at a Wendy’s drive-thru.

We were coming from the courts one afternoon, and one of our “things” after tennis is to indulge in a Wendy’s frosty. I’m driving, so I have to take the orders, which I’ve mastered. My wife Elizabeth has mastered checking the order before we drive off. (They make mistakes once in a blue moon.)

I looked over my shoulder at my thirteen-year-old daughter Jasmine. “Jazz, what do you want?”

“Frosty and fries.”

Before I could ask my two sons, they chime in as if Jazz reminded them of the existence of fries.

“Oh, me too!” seven-year-old Lawson said.

“Me too, Dad!” added nine-year-old Logan. “Fries, too!”

I’m thinking it was the alliteration because Liz and I made it a complete set of five and five.

Welcome to Wendy’s, would you like to try—

“NO THANK YOU! FOUR MEDIUM VANILLA FROSTIES! ONE MEDIUM CHOCOLATE FROSTY! FIVE LARGE FRIES! THAT’S ALL!” You have to yell if you don’t want to repeat yourself. You know the drill.

After paying at the first window, I eased to the second window, and our order came out in a flash via a typical smiling girl who looked about sixteen. The smile never fools Liz, and she didn’t miss a beat when she said in a deadpan voice, “All fries are here but no ketchup.”

I had to tap on the window because smiling girl was gone.

“Yes?” she said, smiling again.

I smiled, too. “We need ketchup. Lots of ketchup.”

Her smile disappeared. “Oh. We’re out of ketchup.”

My smile disappeared, too. “Then take these fries back and give us our refund.”

Without hesitation, she bent down and miraculously found some ketchup somewhere around her knees. Therefore, without hesitation, I parked, entered the restaurant, gave the manager the run-down of the situation, all the while doing a great impression of Eddie Murphy’s Axel Foley from Beverly Hills Cop.

The manager apologized profusely, “comped” the entire meal, and offered me a bunch of coupons, which I accepted. He even ordered the girl to apologize, but I was already walking out the door, smiling my butt off.

Needless to say, I returned to the car as a hero to my family. We may not worship food, but that doesn’t make us pushovers.