An Open Letter to the Jack in the Box on West End

Dear Jack in the Box,

Where are the kids who used to serve my food?  There was the kid with cornrows who always made my shake just the way I liked it and the girl who’d dyed the ends of her hair an electric pink, who would always check the receipt and look in the bag and make sure I had everything.

They rocked.

This week, I’ve been to Jack in the Box twice and both times been served by white people who could not get my order right either time.

And I don’t mean to imply that your white folks are idiots, but let me tell you a story about what I saw today.

A woman in an SUV was pissed that her fries were cold.  She asked to speak to the manager.  He came to the window and she threw her fries in his face.  Then she tried to hit him (shoot, they must have screwed up her order twice as bad as they’ve been screwing up mine) and, Jack in the Box, he just kept his face out there.

He’s got a window he can shut or a whole building to hide in and he just sat there looking dumbfounded.

Seriously, if your employees are not smart enough to avoid getting attacked by a woman in an SUV, they sure as hell aren’t smart enough to get my order right.

Please, bring back my usual folks.


Aunt B.

One thought on “An Open Letter to the Jack in the Box on West End

  1. I’m thinking about boycotting that J I T B. The last two times I went there, my spicy chicken whatever sandwich tasted like it had been under the heat lamp for 15 minutes, and my milk shake was so thick and un-suckable that I literally performed a test with it: left it at room temperature in my living room for 1 hour and tried to drink it again. Still un-suckable*. I believe in thick milkshakes and all that, but if I wanted an order of ice cream I would have ordered ice cream.

    *I realize the word un-suckable is probably going to get me in trouble somehow. Lynn is not reading blogs for a while…whew..

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