Insourcing The Drive-Thru

The car window stuck half-way down. It's harder to get your head, shoulders and arms out of a partially rolled-down window. But not impossible when you're trying to push the call button at the drive-thru at McDonalds.

There had been a long wait which, as you know, means I'd had time to memorize my order while the cars ahead centimetered along. There was plenty of time to read my driver's license and the the fine print on the insurance papers kept in the glove box.

If the line seemed to take longer than usual, it was because several people got out of their cars, jabbed buttons, and indulged other foolish argumentation with the flat screened metal box.

It's a crazy world we live in today. Why didn't they just drive forward and argue with the girl at the window? I noticed that most of them drove off without picking up their order first. What is this world coming to?

OK. So it's my turn. A contortionist couldn't have done a better job of scivying through the space between metal and glass. Watch out Harry Houdini, I'm onto your tricks. Pushing the button was simple compared to what came next.

A NON-AMERICAN voice jibbered something. It could have been a Taiwanese voice, or a voice from India. You get used to those when you call your banker in LA.

But this is McDonalds, here, in the midwest. Everyone knows Iowa voices have no accent. That's why stations choose us when they need a news broadcaster.

Maybe the electronics of the flat screen are messed up. So I push the button again. Still jibberish.

It's always easier to wiggle out of a partially opened window than to scrunch back in. I don't know why that is. The physics of space are exactly the same.

Several convoluted minutes later, I'm able to open the car door and approach the metal box. There's a couple of plastic buttons there. One's red; the other one's green. Maybe the green one will give me the go ahead. I push that.

The voice that answers sounds like a Sioux Indian speaking in Sioux. I did a quick mental check of the neighborhood girls. Kitty? Suzy? Cindy? After all, this is a small town. I know practically everyone who's ever worked at our local McDs and none of them has ever sounded like this.

Now I'm tongue-tied. Can't think of what I want to say. So out pops the first thing in my mind: "Some foreigner answered the first time. What nationality was she?"

Our Sioux crew answers: "Sorry, Sir. Here at McDonalds we have installed new wiring for your convenience, but the circuits crossed earlier, and you were connected to one of our European representatives. May I take your order, please?"

Or, at least, I think that's what she said. Sioux crew is not my lingo.

Now you might say, I'm a McDonalds junkie. Been one of their customers so long they mailed me one of their plastic loyalty cards. It used to be the only meeting place in town everybody could find. What with the Golden Arches and all.

Even after they supersized everything, I remained a loyal patron, though I have been thinking of other possibilities after they substituted carrot sticks for fries, and salads in place of their Big Macs. But hey, loyalty is loyalty, right?

And I'm sure, sooner or later, Americans will return to good ole meat and potatoes. It's written into the Constitution, isn't it? Well, we don't really have to worry about that. If it isn't already written in the Constitution, it soon will be, the way the current administration keeps rewriting what's there.

What I'm trying to say here is: I know what's on the menu under our local Golden Arches.

So I was pretty upset when Sioux Crew told me my order was not available at this location. A suspicion slinked into my psyche and I asked cagily: "Where is it available?"

"We have it here in North Dakota, Sir, but you don't have it there in Iowa."

"Hol' thems horses, pardner. What do you MEAN . . . there in North Dakota?"

"We're in the process of insourcing orders, Sir. People seem to think it's outsourcing but actually North Dakota is in the US, so we're actually insourcing orders, Sir. For your convenience, of course."

"What does that mean in plain English?"

"If you want a job taking McDonalds drive-thru orders, you have to move to North Dakota."

I was so dang-blasted, dumb-founded, I ordered what Sioux Crew suggested, got back in the car, and drove to the pick-up window.

Had my wallet out to pay the girl, but was met by a UPS truck instead. A brown-suited man got out of the brown truck and handed me a white bag with McDonalds printed on it. "That will be $12.65, Sir."

I handed him a twenty.

"Sorry, Sir, UPS only accepts exact payment. We don't carry change and we don't accept personal checks. There's a bank right across the street if you want to get a certified check for the correct amount. I'll wait here."

I hate to admit this but he's going to have a long wait. I'm turning in my McDonalds loyalty card as soon as I clear the exit.
Insourcing The Drive-Thru © 2005 Chaeli Sullivan

This humor essay is partly based on the March 10th, 2005 announcement by McDonald's Chief Executive Jim Skinner that McDonald's Corp. is looking into using remote call centers to take customer orders in an effort to improve service at its drive-thrus, as reported by Reuters.