Customers take on the persona of Louis the 14th (the Sun King) when they pull up to the drive-through intercom because they don't listen, don't take no for answer and don't use common sense. I think most customers have really terrible jobs, so whenever they have a chance to feel superior to another human they do so.
I mean, after I tell a customer that we only have two everything bagels there is really no need for him to order half a dozen everything bagels, but I had a customer do that last night. He didn't hear me wrong. He just thought I was lying to him - "You caught me sir, we actually have 20 fresh everything bagels right here at my finger tips. I don't know why I lied. I am sorry."
When I hear the beep (which means a car - or sometimes a bunch of kids on bikes - has pulled up to order) I immediately say, "Welcome to Tim Hortons, would you like to try and an Ice Cap?" and at least 50 times I have had customers say to me, in response, "No, I want large Ice Cap." It's like I am too stupid to know what they could possibly want, so even when I am right I am wrong because the customer is king and I am just the lonely jester here to screw-up your order and occasionally amuse you with my stupidity - please, please, don't cut off my head!
Friday, August 31, 2007
Thursday, August 30, 2007
the customer is always right
At about 3:30 a.m. last night, an odd voice transmitted into my headset - the voice of a kid that had just hit puberty and had a lisp. He ordered two drinks - small mocha and coke - but then he ordered something he deemed "an original bagel." I figured that he was talking about a plain bagel, (he was) and as I was clarifying his bagel choice with him I could hear two voices in the background calling the kid a "faggot, faggot," and then asking him, "Why do you have to be such a faggot?"
Personally, I'm not a big fan of the word faggot when it's used to hurt, but I have been taught from day one at Tim Hortons that the customer is always right, so I didn't step in. If these kids wanted to call their friend a faggot, it was okay because, at the time, they were customers.
It didn't dawn on me right way, but as I was toasting the "original bagel" I started to consider how three kids, that all sounded like they were 14, got their hands on a car. You have to have a car to go through the drive-through, right? The dining-area was closed at this time. Did these kids steal a car because they saw no other way to get Tim Hortons' food and drinks? I know people really like our coffee and donuts, but is it good enough to steal a car?
I carried the order to the drive-through window and there were three 14-year-olds on bikes! Not Harley Davidsons. Huffys. Not only were the 14-year-olds out on bikes at 3:30 a.m. Wednesday night, but they all had cigarettes in hand. My first reaction was to ask, "Where are the parents?" I didn't pry though because whatever bullshit our customers are up to they are still always right.
Personally, I'm not a big fan of the word faggot when it's used to hurt, but I have been taught from day one at Tim Hortons that the customer is always right, so I didn't step in. If these kids wanted to call their friend a faggot, it was okay because, at the time, they were customers.
It didn't dawn on me right way, but as I was toasting the "original bagel" I started to consider how three kids, that all sounded like they were 14, got their hands on a car. You have to have a car to go through the drive-through, right? The dining-area was closed at this time. Did these kids steal a car because they saw no other way to get Tim Hortons' food and drinks? I know people really like our coffee and donuts, but is it good enough to steal a car?
I carried the order to the drive-through window and there were three 14-year-olds on bikes! Not Harley Davidsons. Huffys. Not only were the 14-year-olds out on bikes at 3:30 a.m. Wednesday night, but they all had cigarettes in hand. My first reaction was to ask, "Where are the parents?" I didn't pry though because whatever bullshit our customers are up to they are still always right.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
you can bank on that
If you have been reading along you might mistakenly get the impression that working the late shift at Tim Hortons is all sunshine, lollipops and stoners coming through the drive-through, but I am here to tell you that you are wrong. Yeah, I have touched on some negative things like The Buddha Baker perhaps having rabies, and drug deals going down in the bathroom and in the parking lot, but I don't believe I've really hit the nail on the head about the pains that go into an 8-hour midnight shift at Tim Hortons. It's not all ice caps and creme-filled donuts and you can bank on that!
Making egg salad at 1 a.m. is not like cooking a birthday cake for grandma in the afternoon. The eggs come out of a plastic bag smelling like Nicklas Lidstorm's jock strip after three periods of playoff hockey and an overtime period to boot. Not only do the eggs smell like butt, but you have to mix it in with mayonnaise (one of the more questionable condiments) and all these other stinky little vegetables. Even the eye of newt stew - you know, what the witches make - has to smell better. Nobody really orders an egg salad and I really don't know why we keep making it.
I know waiters and waitresses have to stand for long periods of time - yes, it sucks - but what really bothers about the food industry is wearing a hairnet - and for 8-hours straight. I feel like no good ideas can escape from my brain because the hairnet is holding in all of my imaginative thoughts. Plus, I feel like a lunch lady every time I slide one on.
The headset makes me feel like a robot. The Buddha Baker and I rarely ever talk face to face; instead, just through the headset. When I talk to customers in the drive-through line there is a real echo effect that makes me feel like I am giving an acoustic concert to an empty stadium. So unless I am saying things like, "10-4," "Over and out," "Chrrrer, I think we have a bad connection, chrrrrreeer," I don't like the headset because I am not a robot. I am man and you can bank on that!
Making egg salad at 1 a.m. is not like cooking a birthday cake for grandma in the afternoon. The eggs come out of a plastic bag smelling like Nicklas Lidstorm's jock strip after three periods of playoff hockey and an overtime period to boot. Not only do the eggs smell like butt, but you have to mix it in with mayonnaise (one of the more questionable condiments) and all these other stinky little vegetables. Even the eye of newt stew - you know, what the witches make - has to smell better. Nobody really orders an egg salad and I really don't know why we keep making it.
I know waiters and waitresses have to stand for long periods of time - yes, it sucks - but what really bothers about the food industry is wearing a hairnet - and for 8-hours straight. I feel like no good ideas can escape from my brain because the hairnet is holding in all of my imaginative thoughts. Plus, I feel like a lunch lady every time I slide one on.
The headset makes me feel like a robot. The Buddha Baker and I rarely ever talk face to face; instead, just through the headset. When I talk to customers in the drive-through line there is a real echo effect that makes me feel like I am giving an acoustic concert to an empty stadium. So unless I am saying things like, "10-4," "Over and out," "Chrrrer, I think we have a bad connection, chrrrrreeer," I don't like the headset because I am not a robot. I am man and you can bank on that!
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
who's in the bathroom?
The Buddha Baker and I are supposed to lock-up Tim Hortons at 11 p.m. and reopen the dining area at 5 a.m. Well, the other night we forgot to the lock the doors until 11:30 p.m. It didn't seem like a big deal until The Buddha Baker noticed a car in the parking lot, not running and with nobody inside.
The Buddha Baker asked if I had seen anyone in the dining area in awhile. I hadn't. The Buddha Baker started yelling out, "Hello? Anyone in here?" a couple of times - no response. I didn't think anything was suspicious, so I started toward the back to grab some supplies to stock the front. As I strolled to the back, I heard The Buddha Baker bellow out, "Oh, my, god!" I rushed to the front. The Buddha Baker was pointing toward the empty car in the parking lot. Two dark figures were rushing toward the car. The engine fired up and the car peeled out without pulling through the drive-through to order.
"What did they look like?" I asked The Buddha Baker. She explained that it was two guys in their late-teens. She said that they had sprinted out of the men's bathroom toward their car.
In my mind there were three possibilities.
One: It was a drug deal. Drug dealers and their clients like to make exchanges at businesses that are open 24-hours-a-day, like Tim Hortons. The problem with this theory is that the exchange usually occurs in the parking lot where two cars meet, then the deal goes down in one of the cars. In this case there was only one car, but from the way these two characters behaved they might just be rookies at the whole process.
Two: Gay love. Perhaps these two guys are still "in the closet," and they felt like a little make-out session in the Tim Hortons' bathroom would satisfy their needs, but still keep their preference a secret.
Three: Paranoid stoners. Maybe these guys were rolling around smoking, smoking and smoking some more and then they both realized that they needed to use the bathroom. They didn't want to go home to their parent's house just yet and saw our 24-hour sign. When The Buddha Baker yelled out, "Hello? Anyone in here?" a couple of times, they freaked and wanted to get out of Dodge as soon as possible.
No matter what these clowns were up to they need to learn to keep it cool, or at least learn how to pee into empty bottle while still cruising.
The Buddha Baker asked if I had seen anyone in the dining area in awhile. I hadn't. The Buddha Baker started yelling out, "Hello? Anyone in here?" a couple of times - no response. I didn't think anything was suspicious, so I started toward the back to grab some supplies to stock the front. As I strolled to the back, I heard The Buddha Baker bellow out, "Oh, my, god!" I rushed to the front. The Buddha Baker was pointing toward the empty car in the parking lot. Two dark figures were rushing toward the car. The engine fired up and the car peeled out without pulling through the drive-through to order.
"What did they look like?" I asked The Buddha Baker. She explained that it was two guys in their late-teens. She said that they had sprinted out of the men's bathroom toward their car.
In my mind there were three possibilities.
One: It was a drug deal. Drug dealers and their clients like to make exchanges at businesses that are open 24-hours-a-day, like Tim Hortons. The problem with this theory is that the exchange usually occurs in the parking lot where two cars meet, then the deal goes down in one of the cars. In this case there was only one car, but from the way these two characters behaved they might just be rookies at the whole process.
Two: Gay love. Perhaps these two guys are still "in the closet," and they felt like a little make-out session in the Tim Hortons' bathroom would satisfy their needs, but still keep their preference a secret.
Three: Paranoid stoners. Maybe these guys were rolling around smoking, smoking and smoking some more and then they both realized that they needed to use the bathroom. They didn't want to go home to their parent's house just yet and saw our 24-hour sign. When The Buddha Baker yelled out, "Hello? Anyone in here?" a couple of times, they freaked and wanted to get out of Dodge as soon as possible.
No matter what these clowns were up to they need to learn to keep it cool, or at least learn how to pee into empty bottle while still cruising.
Monday, August 27, 2007
rabies
I hate to admit it, but my trusty co-worker The Buddha Baker might have rabies. About a week ago she was bitten by a wild animal behind Tim Hortons. I wasn't working the night she was bitten; I only know the story that she told.
Apparently, The Buddha Baker had been trying to catch this little kitten out back for awhile because she has a friend that's a vet. The Buddha Baker's plan was to trap the kitten, call her veterinary friend, and create a better life for little kitten. This wasn't some off-the-cuff scheme either. Every since the little kitten started coming around The Buddha Baker has been feeding it (and it's mom) chicken breasts to try and build up a relationship.
Well, about a week ago the little kitten let down her guard. The Buddha Baker snuck in behind it and grabbed the little fluff ball. Unfortunately, The Buddha Baker forgot to take into account the fact that the little kitten isn't used to being handled and when she grabbed it it freaked out like a soccer mom the day after Thanksgiving. The little kitten clawed, scratched and bite The Buddha Baker.
Where the kitten lives - near the trash bin behind Tim Hortons - there also lives this really fat raccoon and a skunk. If the little kitten was bitten by either the raccoon or the skunk there is a chance that the little kitten contracted rabies and perhaps past it on to The Buddha Baker - bummer, man. That's a bummer.
The Buddha Baker is pretty distraught. She doesn't have health insurance, so she hasn't gotten a rabies' shot. I am starting to think that I may need to start some sort of fundraiser (with those fancy wristbands that everyone seems to be wearing for a good cause these days) to help save The Buddha Baker. Hopefully she just doesn't have rabies and everything will be easier on everyone. So let us all bow our heads and hope upon hope that The Buddha Baker doesn't start foaming at the mouth any time soon.
Apparently, The Buddha Baker had been trying to catch this little kitten out back for awhile because she has a friend that's a vet. The Buddha Baker's plan was to trap the kitten, call her veterinary friend, and create a better life for little kitten. This wasn't some off-the-cuff scheme either. Every since the little kitten started coming around The Buddha Baker has been feeding it (and it's mom) chicken breasts to try and build up a relationship.
Well, about a week ago the little kitten let down her guard. The Buddha Baker snuck in behind it and grabbed the little fluff ball. Unfortunately, The Buddha Baker forgot to take into account the fact that the little kitten isn't used to being handled and when she grabbed it it freaked out like a soccer mom the day after Thanksgiving. The little kitten clawed, scratched and bite The Buddha Baker.
Where the kitten lives - near the trash bin behind Tim Hortons - there also lives this really fat raccoon and a skunk. If the little kitten was bitten by either the raccoon or the skunk there is a chance that the little kitten contracted rabies and perhaps past it on to The Buddha Baker - bummer, man. That's a bummer.
The Buddha Baker is pretty distraught. She doesn't have health insurance, so she hasn't gotten a rabies' shot. I am starting to think that I may need to start some sort of fundraiser (with those fancy wristbands that everyone seems to be wearing for a good cause these days) to help save The Buddha Baker. Hopefully she just doesn't have rabies and everything will be easier on everyone. So let us all bow our heads and hope upon hope that The Buddha Baker doesn't start foaming at the mouth any time soon.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
the unmarked van
The Buddha Baker and I were taking a cigarette break around 2:30 a.m. last night when this white, unmarked, Econline Van pulls up around the back of Tims Hortons. "So, you guys partying?" yells the dude from the front seat. Dumbfounded, The Buddha Baker and I stare at each other trying to find something to say; Nothing comes. "I'm just messing, ha ha," says the dude.
So I walk inside and start taking the dude's order: two toasted bagels with cream cheese. Seemed like a pretty basic order and I make it (taking my time as not to cut myself on the bagel-cutter two nights in a row.)
I ring up the total - three bucks and some change - and open up the drive-through window to find the dude slumped over in his driver's seat, looking dead. "Here's your bagels, sir." The dude - late twenties, round and pretty clean cut - springs into action like someone being hit by lightening. He nearly slams his head against the roof of the unmarked van, but composes himself enough to inform me that: "I'm fucked up, man. I shouldn't be telling you this, but I am. I had a fight with my girlfriend, so I went out tonight."
"Here's your bagels, sir, maybe they will sober you up a bit," I say to the dude, noticing all the carpenter equipment loaded up in the back of the van. It appears that the dude has taken out the company van for a late night bender at the raunchy strip club just down the street from Tim Hortons. He is by himself, which makes me feel kind of bad for him, so when I give him back his change I tell him to watch out for the 5-0 and that I hope things work-out with his girlfriend.
Now, I don't usually wish people good luck with their personal life in the drive-through, so I just figured that the dude might let me keep his change - a buck and some change - as a tip, but no. While slamming one of the bagels into his mouth he grabbed the change and gave me a thumbs-up and drove off.
I hope the cops did pick up that sordid lush.
So I walk inside and start taking the dude's order: two toasted bagels with cream cheese. Seemed like a pretty basic order and I make it (taking my time as not to cut myself on the bagel-cutter two nights in a row.)
I ring up the total - three bucks and some change - and open up the drive-through window to find the dude slumped over in his driver's seat, looking dead. "Here's your bagels, sir." The dude - late twenties, round and pretty clean cut - springs into action like someone being hit by lightening. He nearly slams his head against the roof of the unmarked van, but composes himself enough to inform me that: "I'm fucked up, man. I shouldn't be telling you this, but I am. I had a fight with my girlfriend, so I went out tonight."
"Here's your bagels, sir, maybe they will sober you up a bit," I say to the dude, noticing all the carpenter equipment loaded up in the back of the van. It appears that the dude has taken out the company van for a late night bender at the raunchy strip club just down the street from Tim Hortons. He is by himself, which makes me feel kind of bad for him, so when I give him back his change I tell him to watch out for the 5-0 and that I hope things work-out with his girlfriend.
Now, I don't usually wish people good luck with their personal life in the drive-through, so I just figured that the dude might let me keep his change - a buck and some change - as a tip, but no. While slamming one of the bagels into his mouth he grabbed the change and gave me a thumbs-up and drove off.
I hope the cops did pick up that sordid lush.
Saturday, August 25, 2007
accident with the bagel cutter
It was bound to happen. It happened just how I foresaw it. We, The Buddha Baker and I, were slammed with customers around 5:30 a.m. The next guy in the drive-through line ordered two cinnamon-raisin bagels, toasted with plain cream cheese. I said to The Buddha Baker, "I got this order," but as I slide the first bagel into the bagel cutter my mind wandered. I was thinking about the mop-job that I still needed to get done before 6 a.m. I was thinking about the buttons I still needed to type into the cash register. I was pondering why we had so many customers, so early on a Saturday? Doesn't anyone sleep in on Saturdays? For the love of hockey why aren't people passed out from too many Canadian whiskey shots and Molsons?
At 5:31 a.m. the shark-blade butcher knife slammed into my left thumb. I let out a sharp, "God damn it." I looked down and the pain matched the scene. Red. Red. Red. "I'm cut. Take over," I said to The Buddha Baker as I scrambled for the bathroom. Of course, we had no band aides. I washed it out with soap and water and glided for the last half hour.
On the ride home, I was itching my head because my head tends to get itchy after wearing a hairnet for 8 hours. What I discovered were three lumps. I remembered that I had slammed my head into a piece of metal attached to the food station earlier in the night. Either I had my worst shift at Tim's last night, or I need to start looking for another source of income.
At 5:31 a.m. the shark-blade butcher knife slammed into my left thumb. I let out a sharp, "God damn it." I looked down and the pain matched the scene. Red. Red. Red. "I'm cut. Take over," I said to The Buddha Baker as I scrambled for the bathroom. Of course, we had no band aides. I washed it out with soap and water and glided for the last half hour.
On the ride home, I was itching my head because my head tends to get itchy after wearing a hairnet for 8 hours. What I discovered were three lumps. I remembered that I had slammed my head into a piece of metal attached to the food station earlier in the night. Either I had my worst shift at Tim's last night, or I need to start looking for another source of income.
Friday, August 24, 2007
sensible skinhead
I was hired in with The Sensible Skinhead about three weeks ago. When I first met this guy I thought, 'here's a guy I will be able to take some smoke breaks with and maybe even cut a couple corners - right on.' I was completely wrong. The Sensible Skinhead works harder than a character in a Horatio Alger Jr. novel, and that doesn't make me look too good.
On our first day, The Manager handed us both hairnets. I was just about to throw a fit when I looked over to see The Sensible Skinhead slide a hairnet over his bald head. Seriously? What happened to the stereotype of skinheads being anti-authority? Not only should The Sensible Skinhead be anti-authority, but since he doesn't have any hair maybe he should have put up some resistance; instead, he slides one on without a word. My argument was now debunk. Thanks a lot, Sensible Skinhead.
The Sensible Skinhead is also constantly telling me how quickly he is learning everything. For example, when I told The Sensible Skinhead the other night that I would be baking, he informed me that he's "pretty much got baking down." And for a kicker, he informed me that he could "help me out if I didn't know how to do something." Thanks a lot, Sensible Skinhead.
Lately, The Sensible Skinhead has been telling all the girls that we work with about his new kitten. "It's all black, so I named it Midnight and I just love it." I am pretty sure that The Sensible Skinhead is not gay and he doesn't have cancer, so he needs to start talking about Pit Bulls and The Buzzcocks, or grow his hair out.
On our first day, The Manager handed us both hairnets. I was just about to throw a fit when I looked over to see The Sensible Skinhead slide a hairnet over his bald head. Seriously? What happened to the stereotype of skinheads being anti-authority? Not only should The Sensible Skinhead be anti-authority, but since he doesn't have any hair maybe he should have put up some resistance; instead, he slides one on without a word. My argument was now debunk. Thanks a lot, Sensible Skinhead.
The Sensible Skinhead is also constantly telling me how quickly he is learning everything. For example, when I told The Sensible Skinhead the other night that I would be baking, he informed me that he's "pretty much got baking down." And for a kicker, he informed me that he could "help me out if I didn't know how to do something." Thanks a lot, Sensible Skinhead.
Lately, The Sensible Skinhead has been telling all the girls that we work with about his new kitten. "It's all black, so I named it Midnight and I just love it." I am pretty sure that The Sensible Skinhead is not gay and he doesn't have cancer, so he needs to start talking about Pit Bulls and The Buzzcocks, or grow his hair out.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
pregnancy test
The regular amount of stoners - 2 hungry and confused carloads - came through the drive-through last night. We also had a Hummer drive through around 1 a.m. that my co-worker, The Buddha Baker, projected was driven by a drug dealer. I agreed. The guy was unusually demanding about the contents of his small tea. He also had a crew with him and they all had strange orders - two small decafs with two creams each and an onion bagel toasted with nothing on it. Who orders decafs and teas at 1 a.m.? I wouldn't guess a guy in a Hummer with a crew.
Something odd was going on even if the guy wasn't a drug dealer, but the oddest thing last night wasn't the picky crew in the Hummer. At about 5 a.m., The Buddha Baker asked me to change the trash bag in one of the outside receptacles. It was raining, lightening in the sky and thunder in my ears, but whatever, when I trash bag has to be changed at Timmys we change it for the love of hockey and everything else good about Canada. To get to this particular receptacle The Buddha Baker and I had to walk along the path of the drive-through. She noticed some debris in the drive-through area and started to pick some up. About five feet away from the drive-through window there was a small box labeled: Pregnancy Test.
My initial thought was that we need to speed up our drive-through service if customers have time to take a pregnancy test while waiting for their coffee and donuts. But then I thought about all the condoms I have seen flung about in the drive-through lines at fast-food burger joints and I was happy to be working at Timmys, where people are more sensible.
Something odd was going on even if the guy wasn't a drug dealer, but the oddest thing last night wasn't the picky crew in the Hummer. At about 5 a.m., The Buddha Baker asked me to change the trash bag in one of the outside receptacles. It was raining, lightening in the sky and thunder in my ears, but whatever, when I trash bag has to be changed at Timmys we change it for the love of hockey and everything else good about Canada. To get to this particular receptacle The Buddha Baker and I had to walk along the path of the drive-through. She noticed some debris in the drive-through area and started to pick some up. About five feet away from the drive-through window there was a small box labeled: Pregnancy Test.
My initial thought was that we need to speed up our drive-through service if customers have time to take a pregnancy test while waiting for their coffee and donuts. But then I thought about all the condoms I have seen flung about in the drive-through lines at fast-food burger joints and I was happy to be working at Timmys, where people are more sensible.
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