Wendy's

Nature of the Offense

You don't need me to tell you about Wendy's. It is what it is, and I won't bother explaining why I think it's the worst of the major fast food joints. This letter was prompted by Wendy's being completely out of chicken, which accounts for probably 50 percent of their menu. Stupid, right? And not even the "oh yeah, I left the oven on before we left for the weekend" flavor of stupid. More like "eh, we're BP. Nobody will be mad about us trashing a continent."

The Letter

Dear Wendy,

Upon returning to Texas from a North Carolina vacation, some friends and I decided to visit your restaurant. Not because we're particularly fond of it, mind you, but because Texas has yet to discover the chubby-inducing wonders of Cook Out and Bojangles. In any case, three of us approached the counter, ordered, and paid. It should be noted that each of us requested at least one item from your fried chicken selection.



No joke here, just thought you might like to see what a real fast food restaurant looks like.


As we waited for our food with all the anticipation of a Jewish child on Christmas Eve who thinks there's an outsider's chance his parents might "git sav'd" before Santa flies over his house, we were approached by your cashier, who evidently was on loan from the Home for Developmentally Disabled Children with Speech Impediments who Love Pushing Buttons. On his third attempt, he finally managed to convey to us that "ain't no chicken." Maybe this would not be a shock if we were stumbling in high at 2 AM because Taco Bell burned down, but this was right at the beginning of the dinner rush!

Now maybe you say "well sir, Wendy's is primarily a burger joint, so the chicken is just a bonus if you can get it," and there may have been a point in time when I would agree with that. However, upon setting foot in your establishment we were immediately bombarded with so many ads for chicken dinners that I half expected Colonel Sanders to ride a cow into the restaurant and write "Eat Mor Chickunz" on the wall in crudely-applied black paint. You should have just closed. But maybe the cashier couldn't manage to put "Cloz'd. Ain't no chicken." on a sign.



Colonel Sanders riding a cow into Wendy's to write graffiti on the walls.


I'm disappointed, Wendy. Dave would have run out back, popped a chicken's head off with one hand, and had it fried on a bun in 10 minutes or less. You can do better.

The Response

In case you aren't noticing a pattern here, I haven't heard from Wendy yet. Whenever I do get one I'll post it, provided my scanner can handle crayon on construction paper.