So let it be written…
I’ve experienced bowel disruption after eating at McDonald’s but I never imagined a trip to the golden arches would take out my car’s exhaust system.
So here’s my story. I was preparing to exit the restaurant at 13565-72nd Ave. – slowly, I might add – when my tire slipped into this little canyon at the end of their drive-thru.
My coffee, which had been in one of those cardboard trays they provide, toppled over, making for an ugly brown stain on the passenger-side carpet of my car. But it was the underside that really took the brunt.
Fortunately, McDonald’s immediate neighbour is Budget Brake Muffler. It cost me $88.68 to get my muffler strapped back into place, and another $224.62 for more work done on the front pipe. They were fast and courteous.
McDonald’s has also been courteous so far, but in a do-nothing kind of way.
I lodged my complaint at the counter of this particular McDonald’s with a busy young woman with long blonde hair who, after taking a photo of the hole, assured me I would be hearing from someone at the corporate level who handles this sort of thing.
So far, I’ve been through this manager, twice, as well as an Inder and an Amid, also from this particular outlet. I’m still awaiting my phone call from this promised magic corporate person who, I fully expect, will at least pretend to care about the inconvenience McDonald’s has put me through and the $313.30 in damage its pothole did to my car.
The incident happened May 8. Twenty-seven days have passed, and still no phone call, or email, even. Clearly, they care not a whit. McDonald’s is Rhett Butler to my Scarlett O’Hara.
I have to say, for a restaurant chain that prides itself on fast service, they sure suck in this case.
As I write this, I recall that 1993 Michael Douglas movie, Falling Down, about a guy who goes street bonkers because everything surrounding him doesn’t work and everyone around him is perfectly apathetic about the rampant dysfunction.
I’m not quite there. Yet. But I find myself getting increasingly verklempt about things like hitting potholes, eternally being put on hold and just generally being treated like a shmo by people who otherwise want my money.
You’ll find on the facing page a regular feature called Roses and Rotten Tomatoes. So if you’re tired of potholes, and being treated like a shmo, drop us a line.
Howard Beale would be proud that you did, and so will I.
…So let it be done.
Tom Zytaruk can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org.