We Could Only Stare
It was the middle of summer. A lady from the real estate agency next door ordered a chicken box, then proceeded to drive an hour to her next showing.
The order probably stayed right in front of her AC unit in the passenger seat during the drive, so it obviously got cold. Upon her shocking discovery that food doesn’t stay warm, she called us screaming that we tried to kill her.
My boss agreed to give her a new free meal when she came back. She came to get her free food. Things somehow got even worse. One of our chefs came to collect her cold food. While still in front of the window, he opened the box and fished out the uneaten biscuit.
He threw the rest away but walked away with the bread. I presume he meant to eat it. The woman then started screaming about how we were “recycling” food, that she was good friends with the health inspector, and that she was going to see us in court.
The histrionics brought my boss out of his office, and after chewing out the idiot chef, he tried to smooth things over. She wouldn’t move forward in line, and the line was piling up.
My boss was starting to get annoyed. Her hot, fresh meal came up, and he went to hand-deliver it and tell her to get out of the line. Suddenly, our food runner let out a gasp and looked up to see a box of steaming hot chicken come sailing through the window and scatter across the front of the place.
My boss barely stepped back in time. We could only stare as the crazy lady roared out of the parking lot.