Ducky Mommy

A couple of weeks ago, I spent almost two hours arguing with the manager of a fast-food restaurant over a few missing burgers.

It all started innocently enough. I was planning to pick up dinner myself, but when I opened the restaurant’s app, I noticed they had started offering delivery in our area. I thought it would save me the trip and, at the same time, give a delivery driver a little extra work. It seemed like a win for everyone.

When the driver arrived, he handed me one paper bag. I remember looking at it and thinking, That can’t be everything. I had ordered far too much food for it all to fit inside. I opened the bag to check. The drinks were there. The ice cream was there. But the burgers and fries were nowhere to be found.

The driver looked as puzzled as I was. Before leaving, he called the restaurant to ask about the missing food. I could hear him explaining the situation, but the conversation didn’t last long. Whoever answered insisted they had given him everything before hanging up. He had another delivery waiting, so I let him leave and called the restaurant myself.

The manager answered.

As soon as I explained that half of my order was missing, she told me there was nothing she could do and that I should contact the delivery company for a refund. I reminded her that I hadn’t ordered through a delivery platform. I had placed my order directly through the restaurant’s own application, and they were the ones who had offered the delivery service. As far as I was concerned, the responsibility was still theirs.

She hung up.

So I called back.

This time, I asked if they could simply prepare the missing food and let me collect it myself. It wasn’t the most convenient solution, but it would solve the problem.

She refused.

Then she hung up again.

Somewhere during those phone calls, the missing burgers stopped being the real issue. Mistakes happen. I’ve made enough of them myself to know that. What bothered me was the way the problem was being handled. Every conversation ended before it had a chance to become a conversation at all. Every time she hung up, I felt she was choosing to avoid the problem rather than solve it.

So I kept calling. Eventually, both of us raised our voices.

I don’t enjoy yelling. It doesn’t feel like me. But I also wasn’t yelling because I had lost control. There is a difference.

The strange part is that, while this was happening, my husband and my children were sitting there watching the whole thing unfold. My husband knows me well. I could tell he didn’t agree with what I was doing, but he also knew I wasn’t acting on impulse. Once I decide to stand my ground, I’m unlikely to walk away simply because it’s uncomfortable. My daughter had never seen that side of me before.

After listening for a while, my daughter quietly said, “Mom, the more you behave like this, the less she’ll want to help you.”

I smiled because I knew exactly what she meant. When she worked in a shop, she often came home telling me how difficult customers made her want to do as little as possible for them. I had agreed with her then, and I still agreed with her now.

“I know,” I said. “You’re probably right. Most of the time, being kind and respectful is the best way to solve a problem.”

She looked at me, waiting for me to stop there.

“But that’s not really what this is about,” I continued. “I’m not saying it’s the choice everyone would make. I’m saying it’s the one I’m making.”

I explained that I could stop calling at any moment. I could accept the refund, let it go, and move on with my evening. Those were all choices too. I simply chose a different one.

I wasn’t trying to convince her that I was right. To be honest, I don’t always know if I am. What matters to me is knowing that I made the choice consciously and being willing to accept whatever comes with it. If it works, I accept it. If it doesn’t, I accept that too.

She didn’t say anything after that, and I wasn’t expecting her to. It wasn’t a lesson I wanted her to learn that evening. It was simply the way I understood what I was doing.

Nearly two hours after the first phone call, the restaurant called me back.

The manager’s voice had changed. She told me she had spoken to her director, who suggested preparing the missing food for me to collect. It was exactly the solution I had proposed from the beginning.

I thanked her. Then I politely declined. By then, we had already ordered dinner from somewhere else. After I hung up, I looked at my children.

“See?” I said. “I can choose this too.”