3 May 2014 Writer’s Night 2014-05-03 Part 10
Write about a recent incident you were involved in, from the point of view of someone else who was involved.
When do I get to go home? I am so sick of this job. When I graduate from college, I get to have a real job, right? Because working at Taco Bell just isn’t going to cut it for the rest of my life.
I sigh. I don’t know if the customer saw it or not, and I don’t really care. I just need to get through the next three hours.
“Welcome to Taco Bell, how may I help you today?” I do my best to be cheerful. I really do. I smile, and my voice is pleasant.
She gives me her order, I punch the buttons. I take her cash and punch more buttons. I count out her change and hand it to her, still smiling, still pleasant. She walks to the side and into my peripheral vision; she may as well not exist at that point, which is a shame. I’d like to give personal attention to all the customers, but this line is never-ending. It wears me down.
The next customer walks up, a short, heavyset man.
“Hi, welcome to Taco Bell, how may I help you today?” I say the line again. Still smiling. He gives me his order, I punch the buttons, he swipes his card, he moves to the side, and the next customer walks up. Lather, rinse, repeat.
Only … he doesn’t.
He’s still there. He get this apologetic look on his face.
“I actually need a receipt for that,” he says.
We’re actually out of paper for these machines. Why does he need a receipt? This isn’t a TV he’s buying, it’s three tacos, a drink, and an order of nachos. Seriously.
“I … um, we’re actually out of receipt paper right now, in both machines, sorry.” I smile my apology. He doesn’t go away. His brow furrows.
“Then, can you cancel my order & reverse the charge to my card? I have to have a receipt.”
I can feel my eyes go wide. I can’t … I don’t even … I sigh and call my manager over. I just want to go home.
I explain his request to her. She’s frustrated, I can tell. She doesn’t say so, but her body language ptelegraphs it.
“It’s a corporate card,” the customer offers weakly. “I have to turn in a receipt for my expense report.” He shrugs. Why is he eating at TAco Bell?
“Hang on,” she says. She goes to the drive-in window & grabs the receipt paper from their machine & prints out a reciept for Mr. Corporate Card.
He moves to the side and into my peripheral vision. The next customer walks up. Lather, rinse, repeat.