(Times Burned: 1!; Wrong Orders: 3; Customers I Want to Slam Over the Head with a Skillet: 2, Major Catastrophes: 0!!)
It’s Sunday, and I check the position board upon arrival: the shift leaders have put me on front again. Not that I mind; I much prefer working at the front than as drive-thru cashier. There’s much more space, no annoying window, and the freedom to make the coffees myself. I help the previous shift’s front worker clear out the long line, then sit back and anticipate my 5 hours of relative boredom. Natasha is in today, along with Nicole and Irene, who usually works the night shift. After April and Britney leave at 2, it’s leaves just the four of us, and we make a stellar team.
With almost no customers at the front, I end up putting on some gloves and working the Sandwich Station as well, something new and utterly thrilling to me. While I still don’t know how to make breakfast sandwiches, I quickly pick up flats, pizzas, and bagels, only burning myself once in the process (as regular readers know, this is quite the improvement for me).
An order pings in through the drive-thru.
“What’s in the Southwest flatbread?” the man wants to know.
“Umm, well,” Natasha, says, looking at us with a HELP-ME expression on her face.
“Chicken, cheese, and peppers!” I’m shouting.
“There’s chicken and…cheese and…peppers…and a sauce.” she eventually says.
“What kind of sauce?”
“A…Southwest sauce?” she says hopefully. “It’s pretty sweet.”
“Okay,” the man says, as the four of us burst with laughter, Natasha with her hands slapped over her mouth. “In that case then, I’ll take one of your breakfast sandwiches…”
Ten minutes later, we’re still poking fun at her.
“It’s pretty sweet,” I mimick, in an exaggerated laid-back tone. We all laugh again. Another order pings in.
“Hi, welcome to DD. How can I help you?”
“Hi, is your Southwest flatbread any good? I mean, what’s in it?” We all look at each other. Didn’t the last guy just ask this?
“I’ll take this one,” Irene says. “Well, first there’s the bread. Then, there’s the cheese. Then, there’s the chicken. Then, there’s this sauce.” I can’t tell if she’s saying all this to be funny, or if this is really her idea of a good response. “The sauce is sweet and really good, kind of like…kind of like teriyaki sauce. Like, if you’ve ever had the Teriyaki Chicken Sub at Subway, it’s like the sauce on that.” The woman drives away.
“Come on!” Irene yells to the room at large. “How can you not like teriyaki sauce?!?”
“Cause teriyaki sauce is Asian and this flatbread is supposed to be Southwest. And Subway? What does Subway have to do with this?” Natasha counters good-naturedly. “I just came up with the best definition for the flat. We all have to use this one next: It’s like an Asian man who immigrates to Arizona…in your mouth!”
I can only imagine the amount of flats we would sell with that definition. But somewhere out there is a woman driving and munching on a Chicken Teriyaki Sub with its pretty sweet sauce and thinking, “So that’s what the Southwest sauce tastes like.” 🙂