Small Town to Big City

By the second night in our apartment, my roommate and I had already been slacking in the food department. By slacking, I mean we hadn’t experienced very many Chicago hot dogs, a food group that actually helped to inspire our move, since our arrival to town. We knew we were due.

We took a walk, in hopes of stumbling upon a decent provider. Soon enough, lights appeared in the distance. As we got closer to the large, bright sign, we could make out the portrait of a hot dog. A few steps closer the letters cleared, and ”The Wiener’s Circle” came into view. Without a word, we knew we had found our destination and slowly began to pick up our pace.

When inside the stand’s small, dark area, I heard, “Ima’ take you down, Mama!” shouted from somewhere behind the counter.

A short, friendly-looking guy stood in line before us. Peeking inside his bag, he nervously cleared his throat. In a normal tone, he asked,”I have another order of fries coming, right?”

 ”Yeah! Calm the f*** down!” screamed the large lady behind the counter.

 I giggled out of nervousness and let my roommate order, afraid to even look up at the woman.

With food in hand, my roommate and I decided that city customer service did not even compare to the friendliness back home. Discussions of what would have happened if we had communicated with customers the same way at past “non-city” jobs filled the walk back. We could not believe how lax rules seemed at work places in the city

Within a short amount of time, I told several people from back home this story. They all laughed. The first Chicagoan I told also laughed, as she explained to me that this did not occur because it’s normal customer service in the city. Apparently, The Wiener’s Circle is infamous and known for being rude to its customers. Oops. This made sense because my trip to Walgreens the morning after this exceptional experience had resulted in a simple, cuss-free “thank you” from the cashier.

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