For the younger generation, fast food chains are all about customer service. To that extent, not even the Varsity is like the Varsity anymore - they all have multiple lines, no one insults you, and they take your money and smile. It's weird.
When I was growing up, going to the Varsity was a rite of passage. It was like going through fast food boot camp. And it helped me learn to be a man when ordering a hamburger.
The Varsity of my youth was ruled by the Keeper of the Gate, a guy who apparently worked 24 hours a day, seven days a week. And, not surprisingly, he wasn't at all happy about it. Come to think of it, the schedule probably had something to do with his persona as a maniacal speed freak and unrepentant lunatic.
Back then, there was only one long line at the Varsity in Atlanta and The Keeper was obsessed with keeping the line in constant motion. A pause in the ordering process for any reason would send The Keeper into terrible spasms.
From behind a raised counter, The Keeper would rain fear and loathing down on the unsuspecting and unprepared. To this day, I can still hear him hammering away with his nonstop chant of "Whaddya 'ave, whaddya 'ave, whaddya 'ave?" It was like having machine gun fire sprayed over the top of your head.
Even the slightest hesitation would incur the Wrath of Kahn. And it wasn't like you could just hold up your hand and say, "Excuse me, sir, I'm thinking." That only caused him to launch into an incoherent screed marked by protruding vessels and his face turning a bright "Varsity" shade of red.
Early on, I learned how to play the game. To survive, you had to have an order you could spit out automatically. That way, he spit at you, you spit back, and he left you alone.
If the line was long, you had plenty of time to practice. But if the line was short, you had a problem. To combat the fear and pressure of spontaneous ordering, I memorized a Lifetime Order: two chili-steaks, fry, and a Big O. Using this mantra, I've eaten the same meal every time I've gone to the Varsity for the last thirty years. It's in my children's genes.
Having a Lifetime Order eliminated the stress. If you stumbled with the order, the Keeper would let loose with a litany of insults and you might drop your money. And if you did that, he would quake on the verge of an aneurysm. The man had total control and was totally out of control at the same time.
If everything went smoothly, though, he took your money, banged on the cash register, and threw your change in your face. He was so anxious to devour the next customer in line that he didn't even bother to yell at you when your flimsy paper plate slipped and you dropped your greasy fries on the floor.
Not only that, but I don't think I ever heard him tell anyone to have a nice day.
http://accesswdun.com/article/2002/8/191425