*Disclaimer: My wife reads this blog, so I’m going to claim that the basis for this post happened to someone else instead of me.

Every once in a while, I…er, um……my “friend”, stops by McDonalds on the way to work.  It’s doesn’t happen often, mind you, because this “friend” is the definition of human health and conditioning.  But just like a car needs gasoline, the body needs a sausage biscuit with cheese.  So at any rate, this “friend” swung into the drive-through and ordered a heart-healthy dose of meat, cheese, and biscuit.  “Drive around to the first window.” he was told….so he did.

At the first window, my “friend” handed the cashier his credit card.  (That’s because his wife takes all his cash.  She then asks him several times throughout the week if he has any cash, just to make sure that she’s not allowed any to slip through.  It’s amazing that he puts up with it, but this guy is simply amazing in his devotion.)  The cashier took the credit card, pushed a couple of buttons and then exclaimed “oh no!”  She called for help.  Nothing.  She looked around.  Nothing.  Finally, she left the cashier’s post (still holding the credit card).  At this point, the friend was pretty sure that she’d punched the number in wrong and instead of $2.54, she’d charged him $254.00.

Finally, she came back with the manager.  A small lady of Hispanic descent.  The following exchange took place.

Cashier - I pressed cash, but it’s credit.  I need you to override the transaction so I can process the credit card.
Manager - *looks confused*
Cashier - I pushed the wrong button.  I need to do credit.
Manager - Credit?!  Yes, Credit OK.
Cashier - Yes, but I pushed the “cash” button.
Manager - OK, OK.  Yes, Cash OK.
Cashier - I have credit. *shows card* Pushed Cash *displays pushing motion on screen*
Manager - OK. *begins to walk away*
Cashier - NO!  Push bad button.  Need you to fix it!
Manager - *still confused*  Need fix credit?
Cashier - Si!  Fix Credit!
Manager - *punches buttons on screen, leaves*

The cashier handed me him back his card and apologized for the delay.

In the aftermath of it all, I’m left wondering about my prejudices.  On one hand, I don’t want to be judgmental and assume that everyone is an illegal alien, nor do I want to demand that everyone speak my language.  On the other hand, you would thing that the MANAGER of McDonalds would be fluent enough to understand the rest of the employees.  I decided that the best thing to do was to just leave and be thankful that my biscuit was still hot.

No, wait, I mean my “friend’s” biscuit.  I left with his biscuit.  No,I mean he left with my biscuit.  No, I mean, someone came to my office and told me this story about a certain biscuit that shall remain nameless.  Whew…that was close.