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This isn’t so much a review of my experience, but rather a cautionary post for those who go to the Dairy Queen Grill & Chill in Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania. It also marks a new series for the site because I am that offended…

Dairy Queen Grill & Chill

Dana (my fiancee) and I went to the Dairy Queen in Wilkes-Barre to try the new blizzard waffle cones. This is actually maybe the third time I’ve been to some place that didn’t have the words “Mart” or “Wal” in them since my M.S. flare up prior to Christmas last year. We ordered the ones with chocolate on top. NOBODY there could find the chocolate sauce to put on them. The man I assume to be the manager asked if we’d be ok with plain. I was let down, but it was only a little rim of chocolate, so we accepted.

The problem? While their new blizzard waffle cone was actually a simple yet ingenius idea that I’ll gladly grab any day of the week (at another location obviously), there was an issue with the cost. You see, the plain ones were .50 less, and I ordered two, as well as a bottle of water. I went to go inquire about getting that money back, and Dana threw a fit, saying we could afford the dollar and it’s embarassing to do that, saying we’d look poor. However, I don’t like being taken advantage of, especially when it comes to the money I work hard to earn. I reminded her of the three dollar error the very last time I cashed a pay check at Wal-Mart, and how I held everything up for ten minutes until the manager corrected the mistake. In this case, Dairy Queen is a major corportion with millions of dollars. I, on the other hand, am a disabled man working a reduced schedule for $10.20 an hour and unable to pay the bills while I recover. So, yes, I asked.

“Hey, since I didn’t get what I ordered, mind if I get reimbursed the difference? The plain ones were fifty cents less each” I showed him the receipt and pointed to the sign. Then, a look of aggrivation came over his face. Take note that he was just standing there joking around to one of the male cooks. He could be bothered. Still, I offered an apology as he looked ticked. I didn’t feel bad, but didn’t want a scene to be caused over one dollar. We both noticed a man who had placed an order, which was being prepared in the back. The assumed manager looked at him and said “I’m sorry sir, I’ll be right with you as soon as I give this guy his dollar.”

I was blown away by the arrogance! Why the hell did he even have to tell this random stranger our business? It’s none of his concern, especially since the assumed manager had nothing to do with the food being prepared, or bringing it out since he was joking with a cook long before I approached him. Offended, I looked right at him as he fumbled with the register going on over two minutes now and said “I’m in no rush, you can help him if you want.”


Simple as that, just a disgusted no. Not “No, it’s ok.” or “No, what he ordered isn’t ready yet,” or “No, I almost got it.” just “No” in a “You can go to hell” tone of voice.

Finally, after a good three, maybe three and a half minutes of waiting, the drawer opens, he takes out the money, closes it, and hands it to me. And I’m further perplexed. The chocolate dipped cones cost $3.59. The plain cost $3.09. I was given a grand total of seventy cents back. I’m not certain if there is tax on this as well, which I’m sure there is, meaning he still owed me more than what he already didn’t give me.

“Uhmm… fifty and fifty isn’t seventy.”

“That’s the difference. Have a good day.” he said as he threw my receipt away and non-schalantly went back to the cook, as if I was no longer there. My mind, which just exploded in disbelief of a two plus three equals chair argument, just turned around and left at least thirty cents less than I should have been.

It infuriated me, as I felt like this guy thought he was entitled to my money because he was the manager (again, as I assume he is) and/or his idiot staff couldn’t figure out how to dip a waffle cone in a hardening chocolate syrup and sprinkle bits of Oreo that were in the glass container on the counter against the wall in front of me. But, then I thought about it, and I let it go. If someone can’t figure out that fifty plus fifty is not seventy, then he probably needs that thirty scents a hell of a lot more than me. Am I still pissed? Oh, absolutely! This guy basically just stole from me and threw away the evidence! And his “I’m better than you” attitude embarassed me when all I was to this guy was kind and considerate.

But, in the end, I feel as though I had done my good deed for the day. I have the feeling this guy just needed it more than me. I’ll chock this up as my unavoidable “mingle with the morons” tax for the month. I say this because, in the end, I was rewarded with a choice package of angus steak, last one on sale for half off, and the difference between this and the lower grade beef was sixty nine of the seventy cents I got back. Tonight, I dine of beef