They razed the local Taco Bell and build a new one on the same spot. That troubles me.
 
What led to that decision? Did corporate come out and say, "This one's too far gone to salvage or add anything onto. Let's just start over," and call for a bulldozer?
 
Was it mice? Termites? Bad attitudes? I've heard that once morale falls to a certain point, the only cure is to fire everybody and start over. But that doesn't explain the wrecking ball. Unless attitudes can permeate walls, like mold, afflicting each worker as he's brought into the fold.
 
Apparently, it is just that which inspired this rebuilding.
 
The new Taco Bell is, of course, aesthetically better than the 1960s painted-brick border-town motif. The old place had all these arching pillars in its very small seating area, so I always felt as if I were about to bump into someone. The new open-yet-subdued layout looks like a kid-friendly Starbucks inside, with dangling pendant lamps in amber tones and chest-high bistro seating in the middle.
 
But the biggest effort seems to have been put into staff motivation. On the wall next to the counter, a placard exhorts employees passing through to become "customer maniacs." (Should I expect a grappling hug?) They've also given new meaning to the bell, inviting customers who've received excellent service to yank on a clapper by the exit door.
 
My advice is, don't sit on that side of the restaurant. Random clanging noises aren't my idea of ambience, even for fast food, unless the mascot is a rodent with a middle initial.
 
The food is unchanged, I'm sorta happy to announce. I was driven to TB by the recent round of price hikes at Chipotle, which was a tad expensive for fast food already. I will miss my Wednesday routine of sitting at the bar reading the Dallas Observer over tacos, but I can transfer to this new-and-improved competitor without feeling as if I've gone downmarket. The clientele isn't quite as well-appointed as Chipotle's, and that has as much to do with location as with image. The Chipotle on Lemmon Ave. drew medical staffers from somewhere; I can't imagine they come from as far as the hospital district on Harry Hines, but that's all there is for miles. I always knew if I choked on something, I'd be in good hands at Chipotle. At Taco Bell, if my gordita gets stuck halfway down, one of the guys will run out to his truck for an auger to clear my airway.
 
At today's lunch, I sat writing for a while before realizing I was directly facing another male in the adjacent booth. Strange chemistry abounded. Guys aren't comfortable facing each other for long, the experts say; it's considered a challenge, even at this distance, roughtly 10 feet. His heavy brow, hulking posture, and olive skin said one thing to me: Palooka. If we had locked eyes for more than a second, I'm convinced we'd have suddenly, involuntarily lunged at each other. Explain that to the cops, huh?
 
My receipt came with the usual invitation to win $5,000 filling out a survey online, and I've wasted enough of my employer's time on those. If you want my opinion, you'll have to pay me for it, not play lottery games with my emotions. I want money, or a personal thank-you from Mr. Bell himself.

Posted by: Michael Rittenhouse at 07:22 AM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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