On customer service

From: Laurence Shandy
To: Wendy's restaurants
Re: Chili sauce

Dear Wendy's

By now I'm sure you've heard the story. A customer at the drive-through window of a Miami Wendy's demanded ten packets of your delicious chili sauce, though he was only allowed three. The manager of said Wendy's tried to explain the corporate chili sauce policy to the enraged customer and was shot in the arm over his chili sauce hoarding.

The Associated Press treats this story as some kind of novelty -- a "kicker" for print in the odds and ends section of the newspaper. But as a frequent Wendy's customer, I feel I have a right and an obligation to inform you of this story's gravity. Not only does a bullet wound impede the heroic manager's bulging chocolate bicep from performing at its assuredly sensual peak, but it's also a red badge of larger issues.

Some might say that a few packets of delicious Wendy's chili sauce isn't worth the trouble -- that no condiment is equal to a human life -- and they would be right. Still, there are corporate interests at play. There are floodgates to barricade. If all it took was a little gun brandishing to make Wendy's managers across the country give up their sauces willy-nilly, then pandemonium would be the order of the day. The blame does not lie with an overprotective manager or a penny-pinching corporation. The blame lies with the sauce itself.

The ingredients listed on a packet of Wendy's chili sauce are as follows: water, corn syrup, salt, distilled vinegar, natural flavors, xanthan gum, and caramel color. Taken individually, these ingredients wouldn't seem to amount to much. What the hell is xanthan gum anyway? But when combined, they become something new. The Wendy's alchemists hit upon a dark secret that day in the labs. The hot truth is this: Wendy's chili sauce is too delicious for its own good.

Is there any other condiment that could drive a man to murder? Is there any other condiment that packs both the pleasure and the pain of a second-degree chemical burn? Is there any other condiment that I keep in my nightstand, spread between fleshy mounds, and scrape off my sex partners with the back of my teeth?

The answer to that last question, actually, is yes. I also keep a liberal supply of ranch dressing in my nightstand. Perhaps ranch dressing isn't considered a condiment, but shouldn't it be? How about this, Wendy's: have you ever thought of keeping squeeze bottles of ranch dressing on the tables at your restaurants? It might be worth a try. That stuff's good on everything.

Anyway, my point is this: you got lucky this time, Wendy's. No one has been killed over your chili sauce yet. But the attention this wacky story of the day will no doubt receive may well spark a mad rush on delicious chili sauce. Are you prepared, Wendy's? Chiligeddon is coming.

Don't say I didn't warn you.

Best wishes,
Laurence Shandy, gentleman