On the way home last week, my wife calls and asks if I can get her a drink. After pulling up to the drive-through window at one of my favorite fast-food restaurants in Springboro (hint: they serve billions), the woman, who appears to be friendly enough, hands me my large Diet Coke.
Except it’s filled about two inches from the top.
No problem. I ask her if she can either fill up my cup or hand me an extra cup of ice.
She takes the cup, pours the Diet Coke down the drain, and refills another cup. They may serve billions, but they like wasting perfectly good Diet Coke.
By this time, the drive-through line is backed up to Franklin. She hands me the cup, and — believe it or not — it’s not filled to the top. While still in line, I remove the lid, and I notice the Diet Coke appears to be a lighter shade, like its ugly stepbrother, Coke.
I take a sip. I nearly faint.
It’s Coke.
There are several bags of food, now getting cold, sitting by the window. I tap on the window. The woman isn’t so friendly.
I tell her it’s Coke.
“You got to be kidding me?”
“I couldn’t make this up.”
She puts another cup — if you’re counting, Mr. Ray Kroc, that’s three glasses, three and half cups of ice and who knows how many ounces of drink for $1 — under the automated dispenser.
She hands me the Diet Coke and another cup of ice. I’m spending more time with this woman than my wife and daughter.
Again the glass isn’t full.
I tap on the window. Again.
Suddenly, the Wicked Witch of Hamburgers is behind the glass.
Me: “Could you fill this up?”
Her: “I left room for the ice.”
Me: “That’s terrible customer service.”
Her: “It’s the machine’s fault.”
Me: “Just give me my drink.”
She slams the door. I drive home, walk upstairs, and hand Tammy her Diet Coke with extra ice.
She takes a sip.
“This isn’t Diet Coke.”
Contact this columnist at (513) 705-2842 or rmccrabb@coxohio.com.
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