A clearinghouse of news and events about historic Route 66, the Mother Road.
Route 66 blog roundup for Dec. 23
Lovimoment and her mother are traveling Route 66 and documenting it on It’s One Adventure After Another. They are finishing a Mother Road trip that Lovimoment’s mom and grandmother started, but the grandmother fell ill and eventually died. On Friday, they were in Tulsa.
Thumbrella seems to be a fan of Route 66 artist Bob Waldmire, and posted two of his works. You also can see other Waldmire works here.
Sammy posts the Unofficial Rules of the Sonic Drive-In, a common retro chain restaurant along Route 66. She ought to know the rules; she works there. Sammy’s rants are funny when they’re not acidic, such as: “It’s cute when elderly people hand us 50 cent tips, and smile when like they have just given the greatest tip ever. It’s not cute for anyone else.”
One thought on “Route 66 blog roundup for Dec. 23”
I feel Sammy’s pain on the issues of ill-mannered children, obnoxious teenagers, rude customers, and bad tippers. I’ve dealt with all those at places where I’ve worked in the past. But Sammy would be better off directing her “Wacky Pack” and “Sonic Size” complaints to corporate headquarters.
There’s much to hate about chain restaurants, but the one I hate most is the way they all strive for homogeneity, then turn around and attempt to distinguish themselves from each other by putting all the names of things in code.
If you have three sizes, and I order a “large,” give me the biggest one, and hold the attitude. You work at one restaurant, where you are forced to speak in the secret code all day. I, on the other hand, am a customer at many restaurants, and I do not have time to memorize the names your corporate marketing hacks came up with when “small,” “medium,” and “large” went out of style.
“Happy Meal” is a generic term, like “Jell-O” or “Xerox.” Cope with it. Again: I can’t keep track of the umpteen different names the fast-food places come up with to say “kids’ meal.” And if I had a car full of screaming children, all squirming and wiggling and begging for their dinner, the secret codename for their happy meal would be the LAST thing on my mind.
I quit eating at Hardee’s altogether when they changed the names of their burgers and refused to give me a bacon double cheeseburger because there was no name for it on the menu and I was supposed to know, by osmosis, that I had to order the “Super-Deluxe-Six-Dollar-Mega-Star-Works-With-Cheese, and add bacon, please” or whatever. When I say “bacon double cheeseburger,” that’s pretty clear. If I wanted to speak in code, I’d join the Army and learn Navajo.
If you don’t like dealing with the problems your employer has created by deliberately confusing and annoying the customers, take it up with corporate. Or quit. Or keep a log of all the customers who are confused/annoyed by the secret codes, and present your findings to upper management. I’ll even sign a petition if you want to start one.
In exchange for your patience with my staunch refusal to memorize the secret code, I will continue to tip appropriately. Which usually means I order five dollars’ worth of food, hand you a ten, and tell you to keep the change. If I’m tipping you 100 percent, I’m buying something: Your cooperation. If I don’t get what I pay for, I’ll go to a Mom and Pop, where “medium” means “the middle size,” a cheeseburger is still called a cheeseburger, and the waitress means it when she asks if there’s anything else she can get me.
I feel Sammy’s pain on the issues of ill-mannered children, obnoxious teenagers, rude customers, and bad tippers. I’ve dealt with all those at places where I’ve worked in the past. But Sammy would be better off directing her “Wacky Pack” and “Sonic Size” complaints to corporate headquarters.
There’s much to hate about chain restaurants, but the one I hate most is the way they all strive for homogeneity, then turn around and attempt to distinguish themselves from each other by putting all the names of things in code.
If you have three sizes, and I order a “large,” give me the biggest one, and hold the attitude. You work at one restaurant, where you are forced to speak in the secret code all day. I, on the other hand, am a customer at many restaurants, and I do not have time to memorize the names your corporate marketing hacks came up with when “small,” “medium,” and “large” went out of style.
“Happy Meal” is a generic term, like “Jell-O” or “Xerox.” Cope with it. Again: I can’t keep track of the umpteen different names the fast-food places come up with to say “kids’ meal.” And if I had a car full of screaming children, all squirming and wiggling and begging for their dinner, the secret codename for their happy meal would be the LAST thing on my mind.
I quit eating at Hardee’s altogether when they changed the names of their burgers and refused to give me a bacon double cheeseburger because there was no name for it on the menu and I was supposed to know, by osmosis, that I had to order the “Super-Deluxe-Six-Dollar-Mega-Star-Works-With-Cheese, and add bacon, please” or whatever. When I say “bacon double cheeseburger,” that’s pretty clear. If I wanted to speak in code, I’d join the Army and learn Navajo.
If you don’t like dealing with the problems your employer has created by deliberately confusing and annoying the customers, take it up with corporate. Or quit. Or keep a log of all the customers who are confused/annoyed by the secret codes, and present your findings to upper management. I’ll even sign a petition if you want to start one.
In exchange for your patience with my staunch refusal to memorize the secret code, I will continue to tip appropriately. Which usually means I order five dollars’ worth of food, hand you a ten, and tell you to keep the change. If I’m tipping you 100 percent, I’m buying something: Your cooperation. If I don’t get what I pay for, I’ll go to a Mom and Pop, where “medium” means “the middle size,” a cheeseburger is still called a cheeseburger, and the waitress means it when she asks if there’s anything else she can get me.