Fast food? More Like Slow Food!

I decided recently to finally give in and try out this new restaurant I had been hearing so much about. I had heard Burger King mentioned as a popular lunch destination and decided to once and for all quell my overwhelming curiosity.

A phone book directed me to the closest location and I found it with great ease. I stepped into the establishment and stood by the door waiting to be approached by a hostess. Five minutes passed. I glanced at my watch and extended my neck upward to make sure that somebody knew I was there. A woman behind the counter was staring at me with one eyebrow raised slightly higher than the other. I smiled toward her and gave a polite wave so as to alert her that I was ready to be seated. She waved back awkwardly and backed slowly into the kitchen. I found her actions to be strange, but I assumed that she was simply going into the back in order to fetch someone to seat me.

It had now been 15 minutes, and I was starting to get restless. I gave it another five minutes and decided that I would just seat myself. I made sure to sit near the kitchen area and exchanged angry glares with the woman who had re-appeared behind the counter as I walked by. “Thank you,” I remarked as sarcastically as possible making my way to a seat.

The hygiene of the table was atrocious. It appeared as though the table had received nothing more than a once over with a damp wash cloth. I leaned closely to the table and gave a sharp sniff immediately regretting my investigation. So far my Burger King experience did not feel very royal at all.

Again, I waited for five minutes. I glanced at my watch, and craned my neck to make sure that somebody, anybody had noticed me. I began to clear my throat, softly at first, slowly building to a full on coughing fit, switching between wild gesticulations and slamming my fists on the table.

After three minutes of my attention demanding show, I got up stomping my way toward the counter to confront the woman who had been staring at me since I walked through the door. “Welcome to Burger King, can I take your–” I cut her off to make sure that she understood how unacceptable the restaurant’s behavior had been. “Do you know how long I have been here?” She looked back at me — silent — with a look of palpable terror on her face. Good, I could tell I was getting through. “23 minutes! I could have eaten two meals at any other restaurant by now! I was not seated, I was not informed there would be a wait, I was not even given a menu!”

At this point, the woman, who was wearing a name tag that read, “Liz,” began to unfold a slight smirk upon her face. “Is this funny to you?” I demanded as loudly as I could. She looked to her right at a woman wearing a headset near a window. Why this woman was standing by the window wearing a headset is beyond my realm of understanding. The headset woman raised her eyebrows and shrugged her shoulders glancing back and forth between me and Liz. “This is ridiculous!” I screamed. My voice cracked loudly during the second syllable of ridiculous. I turned on me heels throwing my arms up in the air, and briskly walked toward the exit. I threw the door open, walked through and flung the door closed behind me. I walked away striking the pavement with each step, anxious for the resounding door-slam. I turned around only to realize that the door was equipped with a hydraulic. I let out a resounding, “Come on!” and slammed my car door so as to receive some kind of door slamming gratification.

I drove away confused as to why anybody would ever want to eat at this restaurant, but my spirits lifted slightly when I saw another restaurant that I had been hearing so much about a few blocks in the distance. I had heard of this “McDonald’s.”

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About Kyle Hilliard
I used to be a freelancer. Now I write for Game Informer magazine. Someday, when the time is right, I will grow a mustache.

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