Midwest Memo
Correction
by Alan Shultz

I guess you could say I've consumed more than my fair share of fast food over the years. Just the sheer number of times I've made my way to the food counter has significantly upped my chances for food blunders.

It was the taste for a fish sandwich that did me in last Friday.

I pulled into the McDonald's parking lot, headed inside to the familiar confines and, in time, wound up at the front of the line.

I consulted the picture menu. I confirmed that the fish fillet and I had a lunch date. Confidently, I placed my order.

"A number 10 please," I said, "and easy on the mayo."

Ok, ok, stop right there. Let me be the first to admit that the McDonald's fish fillet actually comes with tartar sauce, and not mayonnaise.

But, kind reader, be honest here. Given the fact that there is one, and only one, condiment on the #10, do you kind of know, do you have a good guess of what I meant when I said "and easy on the mayo." I wasn't talking horseradish, or steak sauce. I said mayo, I meant tartar.

The counter clerk was, however, having none of it. She was giving no benefit of the doubt.

"The fish fillet does not come with mayonnaise," she corrected me.

I felt slightly filleted by the comment. I mean, sure, she has the right to hold me to condiment perfection. I'm just not convinced the correction was necessary for us to get from point A to point B.

But the transaction proceeded, with me corrected on the whole mayo vs. tartar thing. But honestly, I enjoyed my #10 lunch just a smidgen less.

On, I proceeded, to the afternoon's activities.

My next destination was an hour lecture I was scheduled to attend. The meeting was held in a convention hall. There were many entrances, many directions to go, many, many different venues taking place in the vast and cavernous building.

I headed for the information booth where a tall woman with a bright pink headband sat in apparent readiness.

"Do you know where the green festival meeting is being held," I asked?

There was the slightest of awkward pauses. I didn't get the problem.

"Do I know," the lady said slowly?

"DO IIIIIIIIIIIII know," she repeated?

Obviously, I had phrased my question incorrectly as far as the information lady was concerned. She wanted me to assume she knew the whereabouts of all meetings in her confines. Properly presented, my question should have gone something like, "Please direct me to the green festival meeting."

Instead of rephrasing my question, I fled.

"I'll find it on my own, thanks," I called to her as I ran from the booth that didn't seem to offer much in the way of information.

I suppose I'm just as guilty as the next guy of correcting folks when they could just as well earn a pass. But those corrections sure come with a price.

How many great stories

have been wrecked, their tempo shot, their cadence ruined because someone had to clarify, right then and there, that it was "Maple Street" and not "Elm Street" where the drama unfolded.

Decades ago I hailed the one and only cab in Paris I've ever taken. The "Louvre" I said to the cabdriver. Unfortunately, I pronounced the name of the famous art museum like the folding louver door one might find on a closet.

To this day I'm certain the cabbie knew exactly where I wanted to be taken. However, in reaction to my gaff he offered up a look both shocked and offended.

Corrected, I was, but at such a cost!

So I'm going to wrestle my own lesson from these recent corrections.

And as far as McDonald's, I suppose I should stick to ordering beef. Except the last time I did that I ordered a "Whopper with cheese."

Oops, that's the signature burger of McDonald's competition.

On that occasion the counter clerk simply offered a tisk-tisk while feigning she had no idea whatsoever what I actually wanted for lunch.

With all these corrections, someday I'll learn the underlying lesson: something like - pack a sack lunch.