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Enter: the Jack-In-The-Box drive through
Now for those blissfully unaware, especially any of my east-coast cronies, Jack-In-The-Box is a lot like Hardee's on the East Coast. Sort of a Breakfast and lunch fast food hub open pretty much always.
Recently, when grabbing a totally sinful breakfast 'sangwhich' on my way to work, I was asked a very serious question by the cashier/junk food pimp lady with the paper hat on:
"How was your visit with us today?"
What? The question left me stunned. I had no response as I sat dumbfounded–frozen–by this ridiculous question. How was my "visit"? You mean my shamefully indulgent, semi-guilt-ridden effort to exchange hard-earned cash for this gooey, cheesy, bacon-smothered awesomeness? If I were to answer truthfully, my visit was:
• Hopelessly indulgent
• Nirvana-esque
• Emotionally polarizing
• Regretfully ecstatic
• Embarrassingly euphoric
All of these hover dangerously close to an unpleasant truth, though I believe all I could muster at the moment was an emphatic; "uh.. good."
In the future, if this is indeed how the mood engineers at the Jack-In-The-Box corporate experiential refinement division are planning to mold my "visits" from here on, I will be better prepared to respond to their false, yet strangely gratifying attempts at 'feel-good' perkiness as I grab my bag of grease.
I wonder what Wendy's morning pleasantries are like?
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