Dear Fast Food Service Employees-
Good fast food service is like (according to all I've learned from watching The Wire) a good drug deal. Quick, dirty, and with as little eye contact as possible. Both parties involved are ultimately left unsatisfied while a hidden third party at the top rakes in the monies. You heard me, Wendy. Yes, I am comparing that little red-haired Pippi-Longstocking-wannabe with Avon Barksdale, notorious fictional gangster with a troubled soul.
All I want from fast food personnel is for them to swipe my magic piece of money plastic and give me my greasy bag of shame so I can drive away as quickly as possible. Let it drench my entire car, still half filled with stuff I'm too lazy to move into my new house, with its potent fried aroma. But do not, do not, attempt to converse with me. Yes, the regular pleasantries are fine, such as, "Have a nice day," or, "Thank you," and please allow me to respond "thank you" to the latter because apparently I don't understand how language works.
But for Jeebus' sake, please don't do anything more. Being treated like a human being might just make me rethink the entire purchase.
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