RaisingDad
by Jim and Henry Duchene
Fast Food Favorites
“Who stole my Dilly Bar?”
My two favorite fast food restaurants are Dairy Queen and Chick-fil-A.
Let me tell you why.
It’s not just the Pumpkin Pie Blizzards and Peppermint Shakes, which are available seasonally. It’s the free food I get with each purchase. You see, at the bottom of their receipts are online surveys. Take them and, for your trouble, you'll earn a complimentary Dilly Bar at Dairy Queen or chicken sandwich at Chick-fil-A. And free, my friends, is my preferred price point.
Unfortunately, the offer only comes out occasionally on the Chick-fil-A receipts, while they’re on the bottom of every Dairy Queen receipt. That makes Dairy Queen my favorite fast food restaurant by default. If you think I can be easily bought, you’re right.
The only problem is, unless Dairy Queen’s policy has changed, customers can only get a free Dilly Bar once every thirty days. I think this is a scam, because why shouldn’t faithful Dairy Queen customers qualify for a free Dilly Bar with every purchase? When I go back for the free Dilly Bar, I usually buy something else, so that would be a sale they wouldn’t have gotten otherwise. Despite what it sounds like, I’m not cheap. Just frugal. Although, when I die, I’m sure when I go toward the light I’ll probably turn it off as I pass.
I get around the 30-day stipulation by first taking the survey on my computer. The next survey I’ll fill out on my smartphone. After that I’ll use my iPad. Then I’ll borrow my wife’s phone. Or my daughter's. As long as I have a family I’ll never run out of Dilly Bars.
I go to Dairy Queen once a week. On Mondays, I take my nine-year-old granddaughter to her piano lesson, and, on the way back, I treat her to a kid’s meal. Usually a cheeseburger. She likes it plain and dry. She won’t eat it otherwise.
“I want nothing on it but the cheese and patty,” I tell whoever is behind the cash register. “No lettuce, no tomatoes, no pickles. No mustard, no mayonnaise, no special sauces.”
So far they’ve always gotten my order right, but you’d be surprised how often employees at other fast food franchises get an order wrong. I don’t want to name names, but, if you're familiar with the song The Name Game by Shirley Ellis, it rhymes with banana-fana-fo-fonalds.
“Please, please, please make sure the fries are hot,” I’ll continue, because lukewarm fries are another deal-breaker.
I don’t know why she’s so picky. Myself, I can eat anything. My wife, who is beautiful but also particular, doesn't understand how I can eat something that didn’t come exactly as advertised.
“I thought you ordered a hamburger.”
“I did.”
“That’s a fish sandwich.”
“I’ll survive.”
Now the reason I told you all that is because I ran into a situation recently. It was bedtime, and I was at the tail end of filling out one of those surveys. I only had a few questions left when my granddaughter came into my room.
“Can you tuck me in?” she asked.
She likes me to tuck her in.
“I’ll be there in a minute,” I told her.
Her eyes widened. I had never not jumped to her command before. I’m not saying she has me wrapped around her little finger, but if I did I wouldn’t be lying.
“Why?” she wanted to know.
“I’m doing a survey for a free Dilly Bar and I only have a few questions left,” I told her.
She lowered her eyes.
“You love Dilly Bars more than you love me,” she said and left the room.
“Is grandpa going to tuck you in?” I heard her mother ask as she passed the living room.
“All he cares about is his Dilly Bars,” she said.
I hate to say it, but I finished the survey anyway. After writing down the validation number, I put away my computer and went to tuck her in. She was already in bed.
“You love Dilly Bars more than you love me,” she repeated.
“That's not true," I told her, “I love you more than anything.”
“Except Dilly Bars.”
“I love you more than Dilly Bars,” I assured her.
“More than Dilly Bars?” she said.
“Of course I do.”
“How about pizza?”
“Yes, more than pizza.”
“Even hamburgers?”
“Even hamburgers.”
She was satisfied, and I was able to kiss her goodnight without further incident.
The next day, I came home after being out and my wife had some bad news for me. My granddaughter had eaten my last Dilly Bar.
“Don’t tell grandpa,” she told her grandmother. “He’ll get mad.”
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I don't eat snails because I prefer fast food.
@Alacazowie
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