I wrote this letter after a particularly heavy night of drinking.
It was the evening of perhaps one of the worst experiences in fast-foodom I had ever been privy to. The restaurant chain in question had always been there when I needed it to be, and writing this letter seemed like I was tattling on it. I was torn between doing the right thing, and doing the white thing. Do snitches really get stitches??
As it turns out, no.
Snitches get $25 gift certificates to the restaurant in question.
Of course I took it.

Dear popular purveyor of processed (but delicious) Mexican-themed fast food Customer Service Representative:

It is with great sadness and a heavy heart that I find myself penning this letter to you. [redacted] is easily my favourite of the fast food outlets, and if forced to choose between my wife of eleven years Marcy, or 5 steaming soft tacos – well, that’s a decision I’d rather not make.

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Whilst touring the southern Ontario city of Peterborough this weekend my acquaintance Nicholas and I decided to patronize a local [redacted] located at the intersection of Monaghan and Landsdowne. Our stomachs were empty, but our appetites were full and voracious; our eyes lighting up like toddlers on Christmas morning as the prospect of eating tacos became ever so near.

All that went down the shitter real fast.

As we queued, struggling to figure out exactly what we’d like to poison our bodies with, we failed to notice the ever growing mass of extremely dissatisfied customers crowding around the cashier. I proceeded to order the Hot Box combo or some version thereof.

It was ‘supposed’ to come with two Hot Lava Red tacos, one spicy chicken burrito, some fried sugary things, chips? for some reason, and diarrhea. Just kidding about the diarrhea, I threw that in for my own amusement. We then joined the line waiting for food. The ornery young man yelling ‘Give me my goddam money back’ was the first indication things were deteriorating quickly. The second indication was the manager - who by the way was doing his absolute best not to shoot himself in the temple- began to berate an employee for making all the food orders twice. I believe this employee was named Greg. I also believe Greg was a victim of extremely poor genetic positioning.

After 10 minutes of waiting for our food I refilled my drink for the THIRD time, and it was becoming increasingly apparent that our lives may in fact be in jeopardy. Another man began to inquire aloud as to where his ‘MOTHERFUCKING CHEESY GORDITA CRUNCH WAS’. The cashier whose name may or may not have been Helen Keller kept ringing orders through even though no one was getting food. There were now twelve of us waiting for food, and personal safety became our main concern.

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I know, ironic, caring about my well being and health in a [redacted]. The situation in [redacted] reminded me of sunny, beautiful Los Angeles, immediately after the ‘Not Guilty’ verdict was read in the Rodney King trial. I swear to god there was a trucker being beaten with a cement block in the parking lot.

After 20 minutes, yes twenty – we received food. My Red lava tacos looked and tasted suspiciously like taco supremes. The hard red shell was cleverly disguised as a normal corn tortilla, yellow in colour. And it’s a good thing I’m not allergic to sour cream, because that thing was basically a sour cream sandwich with some ground beef sprinkled on top for presentation. My spicy chicken burrito was delicious, mainly because the BEEF tasted like it may have been sautéed in some lovely sauce. And if you didn’t catch it, my chicken burrito was beef. Not chicken. How do you dick that one up? It says chicken right in the name. My co-victim Nicholas fared somewhat better. He was handed a fries supreme that had literally been sitting waiting to be given to someone for about 15 minutes. He unlike myself, cared enough to ask for some ‘fresh’ fries supreme. Whatever the difference is between ‘fresh’ fries supreme and ‘sat around under the table’ fries supreme is, I assure you it is minute.

As we ate our food, we noticed the drive thru lineup. People had pitched tents. There were families camping, and some guy actually died waiting for his food. He died.
His name was Philip, and he was a father 12. The United Nations actually showed up to hand out rations and blankets.

Now Mr./Ms./Mrs Customer Service Representative, I know that this mess was not any ONE persons fault. The manager did his very best to satisfy the angry consumer’s needs, and at the same time succeeded (barely) in not offing himself in full view of the aforementioned angry customers. If this guy doesn’t win a parliamentary medal of honour for self sacrifice, then there is something terribly wrong with this country.

And hey, I like jokes. Like the one where my red lava tacos were plain and yellow colored, and that time some asshole put beef in my chicken burritos. That is amusing, and I get the humour. However, perhaps this specific Peterborough location should be bulldozed and never spoken of again. I know that is extreme but clearly, reviewing hiring practices so you don’t staff these places full of retired NFL’ers seems to be out of the question.

I will never have a hate-on for [redacted], it would be impossible and would quite literally ruin my life. I love [redacted]. But I will avoid this Peterborough location like the plague, which I’m quite certain that no less than 3 of your employees, had.

Please enjoy the rest of your day.
I thank you for your time and attention to this matter. And if you think I made all this up, feel free to check with the Manager regarding the events of October fifth somewhere around 1pm. The very mention of this day should be enough to trigger a complete breakdown.
God Bless.
A satisfied customer