In the dusk of life, I find myself compelled to pronounce my disapproval of this locale.
Quick Trip, while not igniting in me the fervor it does in others, remains a convenient respite on the homeward journey, offering fuel for both the body and the car. Yet, my patience was tested as I languished in line for over five minutes, only to witness an impudent maneuver by a fellow patron who had not endured the wait, much to my chagrin. The audacious woman, observing my dismay, had the temerity to reprimand my supposed lack of kindness towards her. The lackadaisical youth within the QT, instead of rectifying the situation, callously informed me that she had completed her refueling. Such apathy pervaded most of the staff, prompting me to abandon my vehicle at the pump and seek solace in the form of a delectable burrito.
QTs are typically upheld in pristine condition, yet like all gas station markets, they attract the destitute like moths to a flame. Fortunately, this establishment boasts security personnel, including an armed officer, sparing patrons the need for pepper spray. Alas, the usual vigilance in expelling vagrants was amiss, and upon entering, I was greeted by an unsettling atmosphere that belied the establishment's newness and the constant vigilance of the cleaning staff. The restroom facilities, once gleaming, now bore the wear and tear of neglect. This dilapidation struck me as incongruous, for I had entrusted Quick Trip to maintain its cleanliness.
Turning my attention to the burrito, its price, though adequate at $3.99, did little to assuage the disappointment that followed. My anticipation for the white people burrito from QT was dashed when my beloved salsa was omitted from my breakfast burrito. The protracted wait, coupled with the solitary worker behind the counter, lent a tinge of melancholy to the consumption of my breakfast burrito. The initial delight waned as I progressed through the meal, finding the contents bereft of the promised sauce and desiccated.
While in line, I found myself supplanted by an interloper, despite being the incumbent. Denise, the attendant, chose to attend to him first, disregarding my prior claim to her service. A disconcerting sight awaited me outside, where I beheld a vagrant washing my windshield. My query to Denise was met with apathy, and her lackadaisical response further compounded my dismay. Forced to confront the vagrant alone, as the disinterested cashier and the security personnel remained preoccupied, I felt the weight of disappointment settle upon me.
Indeed, while I acknowledge this to be Tucson, I hold Quick Trip to a higher standard, particularly in a less than salubrious neighborhood. They ought to exert themselves to ensure the comfort and safety of their patrons. Such lapses are uncharacteristic of a Quick Trip establishment.
On a separate note, I have formally petitioned for the availability of 40 oz styrofoam cups, indispensable in our desert summers. The current selection, ranging from 32 oz to 52 oz, leaves me confounded. Why not a 40 oz offering? read more
