Expecting little and getting less

We'd just finished moving a bureau and a couple of wall unit things into the truck. Our eldest grandson is moving into an apartment on June Street with three other guys from his college. (Long ago, my mother's family lived on June Street before heading north to the dairy farm in New Hampshire.) One piece came from the first floor guest room, another from our former upstairs office, and a third from the shed out back. All of it made it onto the truck and no one got hurt. The furniture is heavy, but there are strong, young men who can take the stuff up two flights of stairs.
Sandra nor I weren't keen on making supper after that. Sandra suggested that we get one of those salads at McDonald's^®. We also coupons giving us a few bunch off of the price of a meal experience. We made our way to our local golden arches.
We go to McDonald's perhaps four times a year, usually when we're babysitting. When we're with a kid, we don't have to buy much for ourselves because the child will not finish her meal. The playroom is much more interesting.
Tonight, though, it was just us adults.
We walked in and had our ear canals ripped raw by several loud beepers, alarms at various pitches alerting the unconcerned staff. People were waiting to order at the drive-through, that's one alarm. Fries were done and then overdone, that's another. And, so on.
Sandra was plugging her ears as she asked me where the salads were displayed on the wall menu. I pointed to the teeny-tiny listing in the middle of burgers and fries, chicken and fries, pseudo-coffees, and other unknown foodstuffs. Our coupons weren't good for anything that didn't have fries and Coca-Cola^®  soft-drink product. She nodded.
A couple of the beepers stopped as employees pulled french fry baskets from the fryer and turned off the burger machine. We approached the register.
"How can you stand this noise?" asked Sandra. The 16-year-old boy stared blankly, trying to remember his lines. This kind of question wasn't in the training manual that he'd just read this afternoon.
"I'll have an Asian salad," said Sandra.
The kid punched in the order. "Anything else?" he asked.
Sandra looked around at the menu and said, "I'd like some water. Not bottled. Just tap water."
That wasn't in the training manual, either. The kid recovered blood flow to his face and asked his supervisor (who was 19 or so) what to do.
"Just give her a cup," said the older and wiser one. "Don't bother to ring it up."
I placed my my order, for a Southwestern salad and water. The kid, emboldened, handed me an empty cup without flinching.
The order came to just over ten bucks. I was about to pay when a third person came over to the register. "Actually," she said, "we're all out of Asian salads and Southwestern salads." The beepers started up again. "We do have Caesar and Bacon Ranch."

I've made better suppers at home, but tonight's was ok. Most of all,  the room was as quiet as we wanted it to be.