Don't Super-Size me, but don't mini-size my order either

You know, I try to be empathetic with the folks who work in fast food joints. I recognize that most of these people have few, if any, other career options, or they wouldn't be wearing a paper cap for a living. I totally respect that they are pursuing gainful, legitimate employment instead of leeching off the public dole, or heisting plasma TVs off the back of Best Buy delivery trucks, or something equally reprehensible. And, selfishly, I'm glad they're there, because I don't want to sling my own Filets-O-Fish or Nachos BellGrande, but I do like to eat them.

However...

Our local Taco Bell franchise is a running joke at our house, because the staff there never gets our drive-through orders right. Every time we go, we have to burrow through the bag so we can report, "Hey, we ordered two Mexican Pizzas." I'm not exaggerating when I say "every time," either. We're working on a streak of six consecutive Taco Bell visits that have resulted in an initially errant order fulfillment. Usually they leave something out of the bag that was supposed to be included. The last time, though, they gave us everything we ordered plus four additional items — a Mexi-Melt, a Chicken Soft Taco, and two Burrito Supremes — we neither requested nor paid for.

Tonight was Mickey D's turn. The disinterested, visibly pregnant young woman staring misty-eyed at the cash register neglected to put one of my FOFs in the bag. Then she gave me the old stink-eye because I dared mention (politely, of course) the fact, and seek just remedy.

I know what you're thinking. If you didn't eat that junk, Shamu, you'd be better off anyway. Perhaps so. But when I do so choose, they should at least fill my order correctly.