Why do They do That?

The last two days of this work week were frustrating to say the least. Going into detail would serve no purpose so I guess I won't. Instead, I've decided to chronicle the icing on the cake that was my week.

My working hours are supposed to be from 7am - 4pm with an hour for lunch. On rare occasion, I take that lunch. It isn't that my boss doesn't encourage me to go. She does. She also keeps piling things on my desk as she speaks those encouraging words.

To be honest, taking an hour for lunch everyday during the summer doesn't always appeal to me. If I am in the mood to shop, have errands to run, or am meeting someone then sure! That hour is downright spiffy. Otherwise, I'd rather take 20 or 30 minutes at my desk to just...chill.
Friday I needed to go to the post office to mail the last two items from my most recent eBay sales. Because the week had been stressful, I thought treating myself to Chick-fil-a would be a good thing. It is close to the post office and I like the seasonings they use on their chicken.

It was 12:40 when I got there. The drive through was packed. Vehicles were wrapped around all 4 sides of the building. There wasn't a parking space to be had. So, I parked outside Schlotzsky's, bee-bopped across the parking lot, and sashayed into the store.

I was greeted by the din of enthusiastic children happily engaged in Chick-fil-a's indoor playspace. Oh, joy. There were 3 registers open (out of 5) and each line had around 5 people waiting in it. You-know-who chose the slowest moving line. Twice. (Yes, I line-hopped! I admit it!)

Finally, it was my turn to order. I had had plenty of time to figure out what I wanted to eat, so when the half-hearted, "May I take your order?" was issued I didn't waste any time.

"I'd like a 4-piece kid's meal with a coke to go, please."

*Pause* "Uhm...could you repeat that?"

"I said, 'I'd like a 4-piece...'"

"I got that part."

"...to go."

"What was the drink?"

"A Coke. Please."

"OhhhhhhhhhhKay." I gave her the money, she put it in the register, and then she walked away. I do not mean she walked away to bag my order. I mean, she walked away. To the sink where some guy was washing his hands. They stood there yakking at each other for 3 minutes. I saw my order in its brightly colored kid's meal bag at the head of a long line of bags that were gracing the serving line.

The girl who waited on me wandered back to me, glanced over her shoulder, and after apparently missing the fact that my order was ready said, "She's getting your order." And she walked off again. I opened my mouth and started to gesture toward the serving line where my bag was still located in "first" position. She didn't notice me. There were empty spaces on the line where some bags had been picked up and delivered. Alas, my little blue bag seemed destined to remain in its spot.

Two minutes later another girl came by. She frowned at me and said, "Is this kid's meal for you?"

Taking my bag and bidding a hasty retreat, I got back to my car, navigated through the busy parking lots, and got back on the road to work. All was right with the world. I had my yummy nuggets, a small coke (a rare treat), and those darling crisscut fries.

I reached into the bag to get one of those hot, fresh fries and felt...bag. Okay. So maybe they'd put the fried delights in sideways. I moved my hand one way, then the other. Eventually I was out-and-out rummaging. The french fries had been put into the bag upside down. Completely upside down. Why do they do that?