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Can’t Touch This

For as much as Elaine liked them, she wouldn’t have eaten this Muffie either, had she experienced first-hand what I did.

After a nice lunch with Zane and Grams, during which Zane inhaled chicken noodle soup, I agreed to get him a treat. This chain of a restaurant offers much in terms of sandwiches, soups, and salads, as well as, treats. The little man gobbled the soup, so a post-lunch nosh was definitely deserved.

As he peered through the glass, I knew what he would choose. There was only one left. One.

Chocolate Chip Muffie. Always, always, always, makes me think of Seinfeld. Ah, Seinfeld, if only you and Arrested Development were still on the air – for only these two shows could have brought hilarity to my Muffie conundrum.

I can hear you asking. And the answer is “no”. Nope. Not gonna tell you where we were dining. You can do that guesswork yourself. Chain. Free wireless. Sandwiches. Soups. Salads. Treats.

Oh, by the way, Zane and I are currently working on phonics. We are up to “P”. The “P” makes a “Puh” sound.

As the food service worker turned to ask what we needed, she coughed – not a dry cough (like that matters), but, rather, a phlegmy cough. And not into her elbow. More like her wrist. I glanced at her hand. Naked. No plastic glove on the hand. Noticing that we were watching her, she coughed again quite dramatically into her elbow.

“What can I get you?”

I knew there was no way I was going to let her pick up that Muffie with her naked hand. Not now. No way. No how. I had to say something.

“Well, before you get us anything, I would love it if you would wash your hands.”

Now, my mother in law can serve as a witness and will, if asked, verify that I delivered this response as sweet as a Muffie. I didn’t want to embarrass the girl.

I also didn’t want her germs all over my kid’s Muffie.

Her reaction was one of the reasons I call corporations to complain about customer service.

She stared me down. Said nothing. Turned abruptly and walked to the sink to wash her hands. I thought she’d at least say something, or would wash her hands and turn back around to address me.

“Thank you. It’s just with cold and flu season . . . and, well, you know, it’s for my son. I wouldn’t want him to get sick.”

Silence. Backed turned.

“I’m not trying to be mean. Just safe.”

Silence. Backed turned.

And . . . exit. She walked off. No, “Let me get someone else to help you”. Just dried her hands and walked back in to the kitchen.

Another gal asked if she could help, and I mentioned that I had asked the first girl to wash her hands because she had coughed onto her non-gloved hand. I also mentioned that she seemed, well, pissed, that I had called her out.

“Yeah,” the second gal answered, “we’ve been ragging on her all day about being sick. She’s been coughing all morning and should probably go home.”

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

She’s been coughing all morning? She’s a FOOD SERVICE WORKER! Serving FOOD! No gloves. Nothing between her sicko germs and my, not to mention the other customer’s, food.

I’ve yet to call management. I just got too busy. But, I will, as this only occurred on Monday, so I can still make a stink.

We bought our Muffie from the second, non-coughing, non-sneezing gal who placed it in the bag, and then drove home so Zane could enjoy it.

Only to reach home and open the bag to reveal a Peanut Butter Cookie. No Muffie.

Great service . . . “Puh“.

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