KR
Kimberly Rogers
Oct 19, 2025
It’s 10 a.m., game day, and my husband and I are heading into town for the KC Chiefs game. He’s not feeling breakfast, so we decide to swing by Sonic for lunch — because, you know, they *serve it all day*. We order two cheeseburgers, nothing fancy, and I even throw in a $4.11 tip. Not exactly Rockefeller money, but hey, it’s a cheeseburger run, not fine dining.
We pull up, and the place is *dead*. Our order pops up on the screen as “on its way,” but then… nothing. Tumbleweeds. Two other cars pull in, then mysteriously leave without ordering — which, spoiler alert, was my first red flag. So I hit the red button and say, “Yes, I had an order and—” before I can even finish, the voice on the other end cuts me off with, “Yeah, you ordered lunch, so you’re going to wait.”
Excuse me? I wasn’t asking for a five-course meal or a Michelin star review — just a cheeseburger. So I ask, “Okay… are you wanting to cancel it?” *Click.* She hangs up. No response. Just radio silence.
At this point, I’m ready to leave because clearly, I’ve entered some alternate fast-food dimension. Then, out she comes — tray in hand — with a smile that could curdle milk, saying, “Oh, here’s your nice fresh burgers.”
And that’s when it hit me: this right here is *exactly* what’s wrong with customer service today. As an HR manager for a multibillion-dollar company, I see this same attitude creeping into the workplace — entitlement mixed with a dash of “I hate my job.” Why is making a cheeseburger suddenly a personal affront? It’s literally the job. Breakfast, lunch, dinner — same grill, same paycheck.
So yes, my Sonic experience was… memorable. I’d bet good money those other customers who peeled out of the lot weren’t leaving five-star reviews either. Something tells me this location’s complaint file is thicker than their milkshakes.