People unlike the folks working at Burger King, where I've attempted to purchase a seasonal Gingerbread Cookie Shake and failed on three separate occasions.
I don't know what I did to piss off Burger King. Perhaps the company is upset that I've featured McDonald's so many times in my regular Snacktaku features. Maybe they don't enjoy my constant criticism of the three BK-themed Xbox 360 games that were released years ago and still languish in the used section of every GameStop, worthless and hilariously overpriced. Have they instituted a company-wide missive advising against providing me with adequate service out of fear that their food might not be up to my exacting standards?
All I know is I want a damn milkshake, and they won't give it to me.
My family and I pulled into the drive through of a Burger King off Highway 92 on our way to visit some family in Woodstock, Georgia. We were tight on time but there was no one else there, so we figured we'd grab a quick couple of shakes and run.
I pulled up to the speaker and was asked to hold. Five minutes passed. By the time the people working inside the store completed whatever Lovecraftian rituals were required to type my order into the mystical cash register it was too late to wait on shakes. We grabbed a couple of cones and sped away.
I realize that this was completely my fault. Had I allotted a more realistic amount of time for sitting idle in my car while the Burger King employees inside the restaurant ritualistically slaughtered livestock, I would be telling you about how delicious that shake was right now. My bad.
Undaunted, we decided to try again in the evening on the way home from our engagement. As we pulled up to another of Highway 92's many fine bastions of burger royalty the clock read 9:30PM, an hour and a half before the location closed. We declared our intent to purchase the seasonal shakes into the magical microphone box.
"Sorry, we already shut down the machine for the night."
This is the most infuriating thing a person trapped inside a tiny metal prison can possibly say to me. Having worked many food service jobs, I can understand wanting to get the more involved work knocked out early in order to make closing go faster. As a consumer however, I cannot fathom why a location dedicated to feeding people things for money would cripple its ability to do so with an hour and a half left in their day.
I politely sighed heavily, shouted a word that rhymes with "fuck" and drove off into the night.
It wasn't until a week later that I found the courage to try again, this time at the Burger King near North Point Mall on Mansell Road. I specifically mention this location not to get the people there in trouble, but to ensure that people—okay I am lying, I'd really love to see them get in trouble. This was three days ago and I am still furious.
Again, no one else in the drive through, I pull up and order one of those desirable Ginger Bread Cookie shakes. A completely disinterested voice from the box gave me my total, at which point I informed her that the "and a" I added after mentioning the ice cream drink indicated there was more to the order. This may have angered her.
I pulled up to the window, credit card in hand, and sat there. No one acknowledged I was there. There was a man in a white shirt and tie working the counter inside, but he never met my eyes. The woman that had taken our order was nowhere to be seen.
We sat there for seven minutes. I know this because Dave Matthews' Band's "Last Stop"—a seven minute long song—came on my wife's iPod as we drove up, and as I angrily drove away it had ended and the next song was starting.
So not only did I not get a shake, I had to listen to "Last Stop".
And so there is no review of the Burger King Gingerbread Cookie Shake, because Burger King obviously does not want me to have one. It might be the best thing ever created. I read someone on Tumblr describe it as "an orgasm in my mouth." If Burger King doesn't want to orgasm in my mouth I have to respect that decision.