Wendy's

I can’t believe how pleasant my experience at a Wendy’s drive through on a Friday evening was. My two best friends and I were driving down to Duck for the jazz fest, and had been debating for some time where we were going to stop for a bite to eat. After much deliberation and back and forth, we finally decided on Wendy’s, the deciding factor being their one of a kind baked potatoes. You just can’t get potatoes like a Wendy’s baked potato anywhere else. Well, 2 and a half hour’s in to a 3 hour drive, blood sugar rapidly falling, and the sun long gone, we finally saw the warm, glowing, warming glow of Wendy herself. We pulled up to the drive through and began to order. When we finally asked for the baked potato, our lovely hostess said, “I’m so sorry mama, we’re out of baked potatoes, it’s gonna be another 20 minute wait if you want one.” Dear reader, let me tell you, if this news had been delivered by anyone other than the sweetest voice behind that black box, it would have been utter and unrecoverable disaster in this old station wagon. Something about the true regret in her voice that she wasn’t able to provide registered more deeply in my heart than my daughter’s first words. Who could this woman be to care so much about three strangers? We had to know. The anticipation built as we waited for car after car to collect their food to-go, (one of them surely holding the last few baked potatoes for the night) finally we pulled up to the window, and the most beautiful sight did we behold: the face of an ordinary kind woman with a sweet voice and tender eyes. This was not mother Theresa, not Martha Stewart, not a third unnamed philanthropic woman, nay, this was the face of beautiful, ordinary citizen with a far beyond average capacity for love and compassion and understanding. If you are anywhere within a 5, no 50, no, 500 mile radius of this Wendy’s, it is your moral obligation to support this specific institution. Don’t just fill up on Dave’s single, fill up on love.