In Texas, if you want a hamburger, you go to one place: “Whataburger”. Born in Corpus Christi in 1950, it is the homegrown holy grail of burger joints. Always fresh cooked to your order with all the fixins’. It is a redneck culinary delight. Sure, we have other boys popping up on prime real estate. “In And Out,” and “Five Guys” are a bunch of West Coast flakes trying to sneak in here and contaminate our burger pool. Cute little paper-wrapped sandwiches you eat with one pinky finger sticking out like you’re drinking a glass of Chardonnay at a movie star pool party. I would like to see Spielberg try to eat a Whataburger.
I whipped into my local orange and white Whataburger here in Granbury yesterday for my monthly fix: a burger, fries, and a Dr Pepper made to my order.
The voice from the speaker said, ” would you like to try our number 4?”
I replied, “no mam, just a Whataburger meal number 1 with fries and a small Dr Pepper, hold the onions and add two spicy ketchup’s.”
A few moments ticked by, the voice says, ” Sir, the meal comes with a large drink.”
Not trying to be difficult, well maybe just a bit, I say,” Yes, I know that, but that is too much liquid and my old bladder is smaller now, so I can only handle a small Dr Pepper or I will wet my jeans. I will pay for the large drink, but make it a small.”
Now the voice from the speaker is getting testy,” Sir, it comes with a large drink, and you have to take the large drink, that’s what has to happen.”
I pull up to the pick-up window for my meal. The lady opens the window and thrusts a large drink into my hand.
I hand the drink back to her, and she shoves it back to me. I set it on the ledge and said,
” I will pay for the large Dr Pepper, but I want a small drink. Just make the substitution, and I will be on my way.”
She is clearly shaken and bug-eyed. She leaves, and in a few seconds, the manager appears at the window.
“Sir, you have to take the large drink, that’s the way it is. Our kitchen is in turmoil now because you changed the Number 1 meal.”
“Tell you what Bub, take the Dr Pepper back, and give me a small Dr Pepper shake with chocolate ice-cream instead of the Dr Pepper drink,” I say.
Now the crap is really hitting the fan. The window lady, standing behind the manager, is leaning against the counter, weeping. The manager looks like he got goosed by a cattle prod, and the kitchen is in a tither.
After a few minutes, the vehicles behind me began to honk. The guy in the pick-up truck directly behind me takes his shotgun off the gun rack and chambers a shell. Texans take their burgers seriously, and this is about to get nasty. There is nothing scarier than armed men in pick-ups having low blood sugar because they can’t get their feed bag.
The window opens again, and the manager tosses me my burger meal, a large and a small Dr Pepper, and a small Dr Pepper shake. He also gives me a gift card for twenty dollars, a Whataburger COVID-19 mask, and a coupon for 30 days of free Whataburgers. ” No charge, and have a nice day,” he says.
Notes From The Cactus Patch 