It was getting late and I was hungry. Too late to wait for a proper meal and so I found myself again at Taco Bell.
I walked in – not willing to endure being trapped in line in my car and being shouted at by an AI to order my food.
At the kiosk I start to put in my order next to a guy doing the same. One of the staff members got our attention from behind the counter and told us there would be a wait – there were to-go orders and drive-thru orders ahead of us. It would be about 20 minutes.
The other guy ordering decided that was too long and left. I was irritated that the door dashers were getting priority over the direct customers, but it was still my most expedient option. The devil you know, and all that.
I finished putting in my order, paid for it, then stepped off to the side out of the way. I got out some paper to fold and settled in for the wait.
A few moments later, a family of four came in – a mom and three little girls. They were speaking Spanish, loudly, and I remember thinking if they were looking for authentic Mexican food, they were in the wrong restaurant.
They crowded up to the counter – all of them talking at once – and I wondered how long they would have to wait before being directed back to the kiosks.
The volume of their conversation attracted the attention of the staff in short order and a manager came out to literally scold them for trying to order at the counter. She said they would help them use the kiosks if needed, but they didn’t take orders at the counter. And implied, frankly, that they should have known better than to dare approach.
And then it turned out that the mom didn’t speak english. At all, apparently. And the oldest daughter – aged maybe 7 or 8 – was her translator.
The daughter tried to translate this instruction over the noise of her sisters still shouting their orders and one of the staff members came around the corner to guide them over to the kiosk.
I moved a little further out of the way, furiously minding my own business.
I found myself angry at the mom for forcing her daughter into this situation and sorry for the girl for having this burden. I was also angry at the policies of “the bell” that wouldn’t budge on the kiosk policy and their low staffing that got us to this point. And now, there were even fewer people making food in the back.
The only bright spot was the clerk at the kiosk helping take the order. Her patience while three people shouted at her in Spanish and one small girl tried to translate was legendary.
I was distracted when someone stalked past me on a loud speakerphone conversation and missed the food order, but the drink order consisted of several individual and somehow complicated orders of Pepsi.
As the order finally wrapped up, there came the most challenging step – the name for the order. Somehow, this defeated the translation skills of the eldest daughter and it took several minutes of “any name or just a letter” before they finally decided on what to add to that screen.
I figured the payment step might also be complicated, but the mom knew what to do there and deftly used her card.
Freed, the clerk headed back around the counter and a little while later distributed their drink cups. The youngest was also freed and began running around the restaurant while the mom and other two went to get drinks.
My food order came up while they were still working on the drinks. They had stopped, still blocking the drink counter, while the oldest went to ask the youngest if she still, indeed, wanted a Pepsi.
I waited a moment and when they didn’t do anything I stepped up and indicated with my cup that I wanted to get my drinks. We ended up doing a frustrating dance back and forth while I tried to get my drinks and then get lids and then pick back up my bag of food that I had foolishly set down.
I took my food out to my car and considered a moment after I got in.
I was angry and miserable because it was late and I was hungry. But nothing that went wrong there was really the fault of the people there. It was all politics and policies made by people a thousand miles away.
And, really, when it comes down to it, shouldn’t Taco Bell – of all places – have a Spanish language menu on their kiosks?
In the end I got my food and the order was correct. I took it home, ate half, lost my appetite, and went to bed early.
I hope the mom and her daughters enjoyed their food and their Pepsis. I hope that all the door dashers got good reviews. And that Taco Bell got their staffing sorted out and caught up on the orders.
And I wish that I had gone literally anywhere else.