I can't think of best, but I had my worst this weekend. Admittedly, some of it was just dumb luck, but that doesn't make me feel any better, so **** you, Algona McDonald's....
We were on the road for about 3 hours at that point, so when we walked in, I hadda pee, as did my son. Got the bizness done, washed our hands, cause we're not tavernhawks, right? If you haven't been in a newly constructed McDonald's lately, they're going green, which means, no hand towels. They're also going sanitary, which means every single surface is solid, hard, and easy to sanitize....so imagine a full grown adult and a 4 year old boy in a closet sized bathroom with wet hands and you're surrounded by ceramic tile, and your only methods of drying your hands are 2 jet engines strapped to the wall. Dad, of course, says eff it, I guess we're getting a little hearing damage so McDonald's can put in their annual report how they're saving the effing planet. 4 year old, however, can't dry his hands when they're over his ears, so we wipe them on our pants and go back out.
We walk back out and find my wife and 2 year old son talking to two fifty-something dudes, and she has a flip phone with a phone cover and a belt clip in her hand...which clearly isn't hers, since we aren't grandparents, so our phones don't have belt clips on them, and because we have Sprint, we haven't had reception since we left I-35. Turns out the one guy's wife texted him a picture of a motorcycle, and he couldn't figure out how to open it. Honestly, this is the part of the story that I didn't really mind that much, because it's so small town Iowa to help each other out, so I took over the phone while she ordered our lunch, and I got him his picture...however, on top of all the other crap in the story, it adds to the surrealism.
I didn't order that much, figuring that with a 4 YO and 2 YO, I end up eating half of their food that they don't eat, but I eat my own food and decide I might grab another sandwich. So I go order a buffalo ranch chicken, cause it's a buck. But the gal charges me 2.14, except I can't challenge it at the time because the flat screen menu boards have flipped to a different page and don't show a buffalo ranch chicken sandwich price anymore. So, eff it, put the money down, and she changes me out. Now the menu flips back over and I see that the buffalo ranch chicken IS a dollar, but the bacon buffalo ranch chicken is $2...so I ask what she charged me for...and she admits that she charged me for a bacon one, and tries to fix it. Which isn't easy, because who ever 'returns' something at a McDonald's, right? 5 minutes later the manager gets me fixed, and I eat my sammich.
Decide I might go to the bathroom one more time, by myself, before we go. Figure, ehh, maybe I'll poop. Got that done.
No effing toilet paper. Admittedly, I didn't check before pooping, but I haven't been in a public restroom in the last 15 years that hasn't had some sort of backup plan...a 2nd roll in the holder or at least paper towels...except yeah, going green...no paper towels. No, problem, text my wife, right? Nope, no cell coverage. I sit there for a few minutes trying to figure out what I'm doing...I go thru the scenarios...socks...etc. and decide I'll walk out with my pants around my ankles declaring that the bathroom is out of toilet paper before I ruin a pair of socks because McDonald's can't get their **** together. I turn and notice a little trash can next to the s**tter. I find a paper towel type thing that it appears they used to clean the bathroom with recently...(yep, check off the 'it's clean' box, don't bother to check the TP supply, arsehole). I wiped with that and buttoned up and walked out. My wife gives me a "jeez, take long enough" look, and I said "Don't you dare, there was no TP, and no hand towels". I got a fat stack of napkins and went and finished up with that. "why wouldn't you just tell them they were out of TP?" you might ask...you know why, because eff them, if they can't figure it out before me, I'm not going to help them figure it out so they don't **** off the next poor bastard that goes in there, they can just keep ******* off good customers until they figure it out for their own dumbarse selves.
So, if you're reading this, **** you, Algona McDonald's.
