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If you want to cause chaos and panic in your local Wienerschnitzel, go through their drive-thru and order a patty melt. Now and then, I do it just for fun. I also do it because I love patty melts. If luck is with me, I'll get one. When I'm not so lucky, I'll get a chocolate shake with a slice of cheese in it.
In the old days, back when there was a "Der" before the "Wienerschnitzel," patty melts used to be on the Der Wienerschnitzel menu. You could order one and they wouldn't even flinch. Then, one day, some manager high up in the Wienerschnitzel corporate office got what he or she thought was a "great idea." In management, as I'm sure some of you are aware, a "great idea" is something that is implemented without any consideration of what kind of consequences it might have, sometimes resulting in catastrophe. This particular great idea was to remove patty melts from the Wienerschnitzel menu and needlessly complicate my life. But I didn't let this stop me. I kept ordering them. After awhile, though, it began to cause confusion. People at the drive-thru didn't know how to ring it up. Sometimes they would ask me how to make it. "One slice of cheese or two?" or "Does that go on rye bread?" I did my part to make the world a better place and patiently explained the answers. I had this system going well when a Wienerschnitzel marketing weasel had a great idea. "Let's bring the patty melt back as a temporary promotion!" he, she, or it, said. They also added a caveat: "Let's put chili on it." So now I had to order my patty melts with no chili. Of course, this promotion ended rather quickly, immediately making things worse for patty melt lovers nationwide (I know you're out there). The next time I ordered a patty melt, the girl at the drive-thru said, "We don't make those anymore." I tried to explain to her that I used to order patty melts before the patty melt promotion was a blister in some marketing weasel's swollen head. "I ordered patty melts before you started making them again," I said. Despite the clarity of my explanation, she wasn't going for it. She insisted that they could not make patty melts regardless of the fact that they had all the necessary ingredients to do so. I drove away from the restaurant empty-handed and empty-stomached. For some time after that, I ended up going twenty miles farther to another Wienerschnitzel that didn't argue with me about taking my money. Then they built a Wienerschnitzel even closer to me. Happily, the manager of the store was completely familiar with patty melts. The drive-thru girl told me that he sometimes made them for himself when he was at lunch. In a flash, the order of the universe was properly restored. It stayed that way for at least a week. The order of the universe is a fickle thing (as opposed to a deluxe dog, which, I believe, is a pickle thing). The new Wienerschnitzel had a problem with employee turnover (as opposed to apple turnovers), and soon I found myself getting patty melts with two patties instead of one, which brings this epic tale to the present day. I went to Wienerschnitzel this afternoon and ordered a patty melt. I was careful to specify that it had only one patty. The girl at the drive-thru got that part right, but she kept on referring to the sandwich as a "patty meal." I carefully enunciated it so that she might learn by example, but she failed to catch the hint. When I got up to the window, she asked, "Did you want cheese on that patty meal?" I answered yes, but what I meant to say in a condescending tone was, "It's called a patty melt because the cheese melts on the hamburger patty! Do you get it now?" That might have overwhelmed her, though, as counting out my change seemed to be taxing enough. I'll be back there next week. There will be someone new to take my order, and the drama will continue. But do not despair, oh patty melt lovers of America, because I realize that, other than hot dogs, there are few things as American as patty melts, and I intend to keep them alive and well done - one drive-thru at a time. |
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