Condiment Commitment

In recent years I have acquired an affinity for barbecue sauce. It has become my favorite condiment and I prefer to have it handy during the majority of my meals whether it be fries, burgers, onion rings, you name it… I find that everything is twice as delicious with barbecue representing as my main dipping sauce. I love it so much that I’ve often fantasized about slathering some onto the back of my hand and taking a bite. But I didn’t actually do that. That would be crazy.

There was a day in recent memory when I discovered that the rest of the world does not share my views on the sauce. During a recent trip to one of the major fast food vendors, who shall remain nameless but can easily be figured out as I drop subtle hints throughout this column, I ordered a burger and some fries. While waiting in my car to get to the pick up window I sat and thought about how wonderful this was all going to taste once I had added the barbecue sauce to the mix. When I finally got to the window the lady handed me my drink and the bag of food and asked me if I would like any ketchup with my order. I politely declined her request and asked if I could instead have some barbecue sauce to go along with my meal. This caused her to awkwardly freeze up. She looked as though I had just stuck a gun in her face and demanded money from the company safe. Several seconds later she broke eye contact, turned away and softly spoke the following statement: “I’m sorry sir, barbecue sauce does not come with that meal.” For the record, that quote has since been added to my ongoing “Most Ridiculous Things Anyone has Ever Said to Me” list.

My response to her was a simple “Why the hell not?” which was followed by a heated tirade about how barbecue sauce should come with every meal served anywhere in the entire world. She continued to stand in the window, wide-eyed and frozen stiff at my reaction. I realized that in my excitement I had gotten a little bit loud and before I knew it, another restaurant employee came to the window and politely asked me what the problem was. He claimed that he was the manager of the restaurant, and since they consider themselves to be “way better than fast food”, it was his prerogative to make sure that my visit was the best that it could be. I apologized for getting loud with the gal and shared with him that all I really wanted was some barbeque sauce with my order. He nodded, said he understood, and then asked me to wait a moment while he checked my order. The drive-thru window slid shut as he wandered off. I assumed that he was going to either grab me the sauce or call the police to come pick up the crazy person who was temporarily shutting down his drive-thru.

A minute later, the window slid back open. The manager told me that he had “investigated my order” and regretted to inform me that barbecue sauce was not available with that particular combination of food. He suggested that if I were to go ahead and order the chicken nuggets then I would be more than welcome to have up to two sides of barbecue sauce.

I did not respond and instead sat silently, staring him right in the eyes, my left eyelid twitching intermittently. At least, on the outside it looked as if I was simply staring at him when in reality I was holding my breath and trying to make his head explode with my mind. He seemed to realize that chicken nuggets were not going to be the solution to the problem and took drastic measures to ensure my happiness as a customer. He thought a moment, and then he smiled, called me “Buddy” and offered me what he referred to as “an awesome deal.” He said that it was my lucky day and he would give me containers of barbecue sauce for just ten cents apiece.

While I drove away from the window I threw my head back and gave a laugh as though I had just heard the world’s funniest joke. In the end I hadn’t succeeded in getting my barbeque sauce. I had, however, succeeded in accidentally driving off without paying for my meal.

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