One of the day’s first customers called up, a few minutes after leaving the drive-thru, to complain. I overhead part of the conversation and had the rest summarized for me by an only slightly unreliable assistant manager; as far as I can tell, this is how it went:

“Hi, we just came through and ordered three chicken quesadillas, and we only got two.”

“I remember that order.” He was the one who’d made it. “There were only two quesadillas and a burrito.”

“But… but I paid nearly $15!”

“Yeah, that’s about right. The chicken quesadilla is $5.99.”

“*Six dollars!?*” (foul language ensues)

“Unfortunately, we don’t set our own prices — that’s controlled by corporate. If you think the price is unreasonable, you may have more of an impact complaining to them directly.”

(more foul language ensues)

And while I was hearing about this and being invited to commiserate with hin — which I did, a bit, because I know from experience what he’d just put up with and, when I get a ranting customer, he’s one of the managers less likely to help them grind me down…

…while I was listening to his half of the story, I was thinking back and trying to remember if they *had* wanted three quesadillas and only been put down for two.I couldn’t — unless something drastic happens, an order goes only in my short-term memory and is gone without a trace shortly after I’m done with it — but I figured the odds of my having fucked up their order as slim but non-zero.

I considered saying so, for a second or two, before deciding that it wouldn’t do anyone any good and it’s only effect would be to cost me a little job security.