Today I went through the drive-thru at a local McDonald’s to get some “food” for Mrs. X. Mrs. X hates mustard and onions, and doesn’t care too much for cheese on hamburgers, either, so I ordered “Combo #3 with ketchup only, no onions, cheese or mustard.” I got to the window, paid my money and returned home, only to find out the hard way that while Mrs. X’s Coke and fries were remarkably onion-, cheese- and mustard-free, the same could not be said of her Quarter Pounder. I called the number on the receipt (which merely states “1 QTR CHEESE MEAL,” and doesn’t say whether or not it contains dreaded mustard), asking to speak to the manager on duty. I got put on hold indefinitely, and got cut off twice before finally getting through to anyone. When I finally did get through to a manager, the following conversation ensued:

Me: Hello, I was just at your restaurant and ordered a Quarter Pounder combo without cheese, onions or mustard. When I got home, I found that the burger had all the items I had requested NOT to be there.
Manager: I’m sorry for the mix up, sir, but all fast food sales are final.
Me: Excuse me? I ordered one product, and your employee gave me something else. I think I should get my money back, or a free meal to replace this one, something.
Manager: Sorry, no can do. All sales are final.
Me: That’s unreasonable. You are the one who screwed up here, not me. Why should I bear the costs of your failures?
Manager: All fast food sales are final. Corporate policy. You don’t really expect us to re-stock your partially eaten cheeseburger and sell it to someone else, do you? Eeeewwww! Besides, just think of the liability issues. How do we know you didn’t blow your nose in your cheeseburger or pee in your Coke? That latter practice is common in China, according to my 8-year-old.
Me: I don’t care what you want to do with the food, or if you even want to take it back at all. I just want my money back. I can dispose of the food myself.
Manager: What, and give you something for free? I don’t think so. Besides, I couldn’t give you free stuff even if I wanted to. Federal law, dontcha know. So there.
Me (losing patience): No, it’s not! There is no federal law requiring you to act like a jerk. You’re doing that all by your own widdle selfy-welfy.
Manager (in indignant tone): Sir, I don’t appreciate being called a McJerk. Just because I’m acting like one doesn’t make it OK for you to McCall me one. I have McFeelings, too, you know.
Me: Cut the McCrap. The easiest way to not be called a McJerk is to make things right with your McCustomer rather than deliberately McAlienate him. Now go do the right McThing and refund my McMoney already, and I’ll get the McFuck out of here.
Manager: Nagadoit. Naga, naga, nagannadoit. It was your fault anyway, dumbass. Everyone knows what an onion or mustard looks like. If you didn’t want those ingredients you shouldn’t have bought a burger that contained them.
Me: But I couldn’t see what you put in the burger. By the time it was presented to me for sale, it was all wrapped up to go in a bag, together with the other items I had ordered.
Manager: Christ on a crutch, man up already. If you had demanded full inspection at POS, of course we would have allowed it. You didn’t, so caveat emptor, baby!
Me: Here’s my caveat, bitch: if you don’t straighten this out quick, you won’t have to worry about me “empting” from your establishment again.
Manager: Oh, now you got me shaking in my boots! Over a million billion gazillion served, but we might not get to serve Xrlq anymore! Say it ain’t so!
Me: Look, I don’t care how big or small your establishment is. Your clerk is the one who gave me the wrong thing, not me. Yeah, maybe I could have checked his work, but why on earth should I have to? Getting my order right is his job, not mine.
Manager (rolling eyes): Oh really? Who do you think we are, Friggin’ Morton’s or something? What part of McFucking Donald’s don’t you understand? We’re famous for our low prices, not for our brilliant burger flippers. Everyone knows the average McDs manager is a junior high grad on a good day, and that everyone else who works there is dumber than a bag of retards. Didn’t you?
Me: Well, to be honest, yes, but I still think it’s the merchant’s job to give the customer what he asked for, and not to quietly slip him something else, instead.
Manager: Look, it’s not our job to get anything right. It’s your job to check all our work and fix all of our mistakes before you leave the store. Man up and admit your mistake, or better yet, maybe you should find newr wife who actually likes onions, cheese and mustard.
Me: I’ll pass on the new wife, thank you, but as for admitting mistakes, I think it’s clear that my only mistake in this transaction was in dealing with dumbasses like you in the first place. I won’t be repeating that mistake, so enjoy the unearned $3.30 plus tax you just squeezed out of me. Don’t spend it all in one place.
Manager: Buh-bye.

OK, I lied. Actually, I got the manager on the first call, and we had a 2 minute conversation in which she apologized profusely, took down my name and Mrs. X’s, and advised us that the next time either of us were in the area we could stop by and get the meal we were supposed to have gotten today. Imagine that!