My dear friend Allison, who just started a blog herself, will most likely want to kill me for sharing this story with you, oh people of the Internet. In fact, I think I may have even asked her if I could, and she said NO. However, I am a horrible person, and have never cared about anyone but myself and what I want, and therefore, I will post it anyway. I will give you this one disclaimer, though. Allison is beautiful, thin, and very statuesque. In other words, I want you all to recognize the fact that she is not, in any way, form or fashion, a fat-ass.
Allison and her two roomates live directly across from a Sonic Drive-Thru Restaurant. As it happens, none of them are trust-fund babies and do not have the leisure of staying at home and cooking healthy, expensive, organic meals all day. They actually all are employed with the prestigious Slave Away All Day In Your Office Company, and so they do, from time to time, partake in a fast-food dinner. These dinners often come from the oh so convenient Sonic-Across-The-Street. Sometimes even, one of the girls will come home earlier than the others with the traditional brown paper Sonic sack, and then when the next one gets home and smells that Sonic goodness, she will decide to make a little run herself.
Sometime in late November, Allison decided to stop in at the Sonic and get a Route 44 drink before running some errands. After she placed her order, the manager came out to talk to her. Allison was a little confused at this, as she had not voiced any complaint, but she was especially confused when the manager came up to her car, called out her name, and thanked her profusely for her loyal patronage of his Sonic. As the manager continued to express his gratitude for her many, many, MANY visits, Allison's confusion began to fade into embarrassment and by the time she could pry the manager's hands off her car and drive away with her drink, she was in the first stages of humiliation.
"How often DO I come here?" she mused. "Was that managerial visit REALLY warranted?" "How in the world does he know my NAME?"
About a month later, Allison's low-grade humiliation blossomed into a full-fledged case of mortification when, as she perused her mail from the day, she came across a Christmas card from Sonic, handwritten, thanking her once again for being such a loyal customer.
I say that once you're getting Christmas cards from fast food restaurants, and handwritten ones at that, you might want to re-evaluate your lifestyle. Allison decided to take another angle, and is currently exploring the possibility of dating the Sonic manager.
Just kidding Allison. But Merry Christmas, and Happy Chili Cheese Fries!
I must thank Elise for posting this story about me. I didn't really think it was blog-worthy, but she spruced it up a bit. The Sonic manager (Chuck) and I will soon be sending out wedding invites. Drop me a note if you'd like to be added to the list.
Posted by: Allison | January 22, 2005 at 01:25 PM
I wonder who helped him compile and maintain his Christmas List and if it had some horrible formatting quirks that were designed to turn perfectly normal hardworking people into incoherent babbling idiots suited only for the local insane assylum. Elise and Allison, only you you understand my pain! MWAH!
Posted by: Sara | January 25, 2005 at 01:01 PM