Anybody who hasn't been living in a cave in Waziristan is probably familiar with the story about the Tim Hortons gal who got fired... for giving a Timbit to a baby.
Well, I've got a Tim Hortons story of my own.
Mrs. N and I, as is our wont... took our regularly scheduled trip into Costco in Kingston today. When we first started doing this, we used to pop into Tims near Gardiner on Princess on the way home... and grab a coffee and BLT for the ride. It didn't take too long before we ended up skipping the sandwich, after discovering it had a whole lot less "B" than other stores we frequented. No biggie really, Costco has sandwiches and makes a decent slice to boot.
So we still stopped at Tims for coffee, but even that became less appealing after Mrs. N kept running into Timmy's resident lounge-lizard-cum-server. To be fair, he apparently didn't single her out... he would be... what could be characterised as "inappropriately familiar"... with each and every lady who passed through the door. Mrs. N was a little hesitant to say, at first... but finally shared the fact that this guy also had a wonky eye... which, for her, really put the "eep" in creepy.
Anyway, thinking I would spare her the encounter with Kingston's own "Leisure Suit Larry"... I decided today I would hit the drive-thru. After a ten minute wait... I ended up being distracted and went 10 feet past the mike where you order. Unfortunately, the guy behind me also moved up... so I decided to just proceed... and order my single coffee at the window.
I get to the window and Donut-Boy is apparently thrown for a loop when I tell him I'm just ordering a single coffee. Apparently I have thrown a huge wrench into the smoothly oiled Tim Hortons machine. DB earnestly tells me he has no way to take my order and that I'll have to do another lap around the building and go through the process all over again.
At this point, I'm both speechless and pissed off. I could explain to him that he could take my toonie and get the cashier behind him to ring it in... whenever... or ask to speak to a manager... but this is the
straw idiot that breaks the camel's back.
Now, I'm not sure... this being Kingston and all... whether this particular Timmys has some sort of day parole arrangement with the penitentiary... but mounting evidence suggests it may not be the best place to buy anything you're planning on ingesting.
So, I hold my tongue... put 'er in drive... and vow to share this story with everyone I meet for the rest of the year.
There. Now I feel better.
UPDATE: A number of readers have also emailed...
To defend their local Tim Hortons. My generic reply to them would be as follows...
I get that there is a system. I get that fast food places want machine-like obedience. And I definitely understand that... you pay peanuts, you get chimps.*
This was just the last in a long line of little cosmic indicators that said... if you continue to patronise this particular store... you will very possibly end up with a pus smeared bandaid in your beverage.
And, my friend, you have to spend another ten minutes in an idling car waiting for it.
My local Tims is just fine. They'll still get my business.