When the windows are open and the breeze is just right, the aroma of cooked meat and French fries wafts into my house. And if you’re quiet enough on a still evening, you just might hear a garbled voice croak something like, “That’ll be $15.23. Please drive around.”

You see, there’s a Wendy’s bordering my backyard. And we have a complicated history.

That's why I could empathize with another dissatisfied customer with whom I recently crossed paths.

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