So we go in and I stand at the counter. Because we eat at McDonalds and there is a counter. Where you order things. And it is good. I smile at the cashier. Because I am friendly and also I have no idea where the menus are located. She stands there. And stands there. And I think in my head that this must be one of those places with the secret menu that's been all over my home page and do I order the double animal? Was it this place? And then I see it! The menu on a big laminated sheet which seems strange, but whatever. I look over the tons and tons and tons of offerings and read it out loud to my child while the cashier just stands there. And stands there. After much deliberation I make our choices and give them to the cashier who, you know it, just stood there. And then she pointed. To the back of the room. At closer inspection, those had not been menus, but nutritonal information. Duh. So, hmmm? What is this? Big silver levers. Did we stumble into a backroom gambling facility? Then my extremely intelligent six year old ran back and said "This says wedding cake! I want wedding cake! Like Rapunzel. And Flynn Rider!" What? Wedding cake? Where the hell are we? Then my brain catches up and I am all like, OOOOOOHHH!
I had heard some tale of these new-fangled SELF-SERVE places but had never met up with one.
So now that I'd made an ass of myself in front of the rest of the store, we headed on back to get ourselves some froyo.
I got our cups myself. I got our spoons myself. I got our napkins myself. I pulled the levers myself. I sprinkled the toppings on myself. I placed the cups on the scale myself.
Then. The cashier pushed a button on the register and I then looked at the total MYSELF. Not once during the entire time I was in that store did she say one word to me UNTIL she figured out my change and wanted to know if I'd like to put it in the tip jar.
WHAT?
A tip? She expected me to give her A TIP? For what? Because she was so helpful pressing that button. I mean, I made my own dessert and served it to MYSELF and I could have easily pressed a button, I mean, I have pressed buttons before, but I guess the button-pushing was her job and she was just so good at it that I needed to PAY her for that SERVICE. Where was she when I had no idea what to order and where to go? Oh. Yeah. She was standing there.
Obviously, I told her no, I wanted my change and she looked at me like I'd just smeared shit in her hair.
Seriously? Now there are tip jars at self-serve joints.
*shaking my head*
Elizabeth loved that place. Too bad we won't be going back there.
