Wendy’s – Not What You’ve Come to Expect

On the whole, Wendy’s restaurants aren’t all that bad. For the most part, you get what you expect. It’s fast food. Burgers that look like supermodels of succulent beef and fluffy buns on menu pictures are placed before you looking a little soggier than you’d hoped but you’re in line for fast food, not good food and it delivers what the fast food experience promises.

However, separate to some extent from the corporate entity are the individual cells that make it up. And one cell that deserves particular attention is the location on Wise Road in Dartmouth.

It’s pretty much the first eatery you see pulling off the John A. Which is really unfortunate because this product positioning gimmick works and this monstrosity of poor customer service and cold food claims many victims on a daily basis.

The first thing you notice when you walk in are the employee’s faces. Just an sorry row of miserable scowls that you just KNOW your presence is responsible for. This particular establishment -as of mid-2009 since that’s the last time I ever, or will ever, eat there- appeared to enforce a policy of only hiring low-energy, low-motivation slobs. They’re about as rude as they can get away with being, they stand around in a state of greasy, hypnotic exhaustion and they often repeat the order back incorrectly several times.

And if this exquisite show of misery doesn’t make you want to commit suicide, keep in mind that this is all before the food comes. I don’t believe I ever had one correct, complete order from this establishment (and seeing as I lived down the street from it for a period of time, I gave it ample opportunity to redeem itself.) There is one order that particularly stands out. I ordered what was vaguely described as an “Asian Salad” which turned out to be a casserole of vaguely Asian-inspired ingredients – including chow mein noodles that always taste vaguely of dried out tears and a small envelope of “sesame seed dressing” which, as far as I can tell, is a concoction of sesame oil, sugar, salt and water volatile enough to give me kidney pain. Being a fast food restaurant however, one expects to walk out with at least a mild case of random organ discomfort and I knew what I was in for.

I got the chow mein noodles. I also got tortilla chips that looked as if they would feel more at home in a hearty western-style salad. Instead of oranges, i got a cup of sour cream. I didn’t get any dressing.

Let me explain something before I continue. I have never before entertained the idea of reviewing a fast food joint. The very idea is ludicrous. But at this point, I was already hatching a sick fancy to do just that and so, in the spirit of a good critic, took the thing at face value and mixed all the ingredients together under the objective assumption that, when it comes to the recipe, the kitchen knows more than the dining room. And as i sat there eating my casserole of pure nonsense, only one word came to mind. This salad was retarded. It was like eating a special needs meal. I realize that description may be grossly offensive to a good number of people. That’s my intention. It was an offensive salad.

But now I had the bug and had to return to see if this offensive, retarded salad was just a fluke, a bad day. A drunk employee promptly fired. Anything. And in the months that followed, I’ve ordered hamburgers and gotten chicken sandwiches. (Of course, I’ve ordered ice cream and gotten a hamburger, so in a way, it all comes out in the wash.) There were frequently things missing from the order. They often got the drink wrong. Which is simply unacceptable because they pour it as you’re asking for it.

Basically, unless you’re hungry for a joke and have the money to waste on one, I’d bypass this location all together. If you want to pay good money for a bad joke, there are 1900 numbers that will satisfy the gut better than this.