If it’s anything like my McDonald’s, they’ve eaten them.
And, panache, I wouldn’t mind a spoiler. Is it some movie reference or something?
Trying to get breakfast after 10:30 is a bad idea.
I know one of my cousins, when working at a McDonalds as a teenager, watched (at least that’s all he admitted to) people pulling all the bits of breakfast out the rubbish, re-wrapping them, and serving them to anyone who persisted in asking after the menu finished.
I think it’s a reference to the movie Falling Down.
ETA - sorry, my mistake. Ambivalid was referring to the movie.
Panche was just whoosing us by pretending that there is an obvious joke there, when there is none.
I came here right after reading the other thread. One of the few times LOL can be taken literally. 
Whooshing me here. ETA: thanks Peter Morris. ETA2: now I’m confused.
Poor girl. Once when I was working at the hospital (I had just started), I had a massive migraine. When I was ordering my cheeseburger from the older, very sweet and soft spoken grill cook, he kept asking me questions: what kind of cheese? want that well done? type of bread? etc…
About four questions in, I lost it…burst into huge sobs and was crying so hard I couldn’t even see to walk away. He felt terrible, poor guy.
So I’m voting migraine.
You said “to go”. She went. What’s the problem?
I had to deal with a social anxiety disorder when I was young. Being stuck at work and dealing with attacks is very stressfull. And that’s usually where they hit, at work, in a line up, on a bus, in a restaurant. etc.
When they hit you just want to get the hell out of what ever situation your in, pronto.
This could of been something she was going through. Did you notice anything physically odd about her ? Did she flush, tremble , wide eyed ?
Her favorite customer, an old man who lives nearby, passed away yesterday, she heard this morning, when she came to work. You just ordered, what he ordered every day. And it made her weep, poor thing.
I did a similar thing once as a server. I had worked for a few years, in one pub, with a great manager named R. Loved the people, but moved on to another job right before he was taken ill with something aggressive. 10 wks from symptom, diagnosis, hospital to grave. It was shocking and upsetting, he had a beautiful wife and two small children we all adored.
I attended the funeral but was not around, daily, in the pub, to deal with the fall out. A few months later it was Homecoming (Uni town!), and I had returned to the pub, for one night, to help them out, as they were crazy busy.
All was well, the place was rocking, it was fun to work with my old friends again, everyone was having a great time. A table turned and on my approach the couple ordered drinks then, innocently, asked me, “Where’s R tonight?” I recognized them immediately as his friends who only came into town at Homecoming, I was so caught off guard and unprepared, I was dry in the mouth and unable to speak. Stuttered and ran off to the bar. The bartender took one look at me and knew something was amiss. When I told him, I was verging on tears, he gave be a big old bear hug and I watched the bar while he went and spoke to them. I was composed when he returned, he hugged me again and I went back to work. Including apologizing to the couple, who were nothing but understanding.
If it hadn’t been a take out line, she might have recovered herself and returned, perhaps even apologized. You never really know what’s going on in people’s day to day is all.
I think what panache means is “an egg McMuffin, and a coffee ‘to go’ (to the toilet)”
Which would make sense, since it bewildered the shit out of Frank.
And it’s very possible she thought she explained herself before running off.
A woman I know suffers from panic attacks and when one overcomes her she thinks she’s able to communicate this to whoever she’s with and what she wants them to do to help her. After the attack, when the person she’s with tells her that she never said a word and just ran from the room, she doesn’t believe it.
Well, maybe I can ask her Tuesday, as I’ll be returning then from another speed trip to Dayton, and Greenfield is a convenient stop.
If she takes one look at me and bursts into tears again, I think I’ll go ahead and get a complex about it.
Or maybe I’ll go to Hardees. 
My best friend died suddenly this past Spring. For several months I would start to cry in the middle of my workday, sometimes just walking down the hallway.
Even then it might just be someone you look like.
Once I spent a summer on the east coast. Well about 2 months in I was ringing up groceries. The cashier looked terrified. The thing you need to know about me is my voice is very Midwestern, Michigany even.
I asked her what was wrong, and the look of surprise on her face was instant. It quickly gave way to relief. Turns out I looked like her ex, the one she had to file a restraining order against. The one who also had a local accent.
This is the story of how I decided to shave my mustache because it made me look like a sex offender.
Driving back from Atlantic City to Northern Virginia I ran into countless construction delays and traffic jams. It was 4:00am and I just couldn’t fight staying awake anymore. Just after the Deleware Bridge I pulled into a Days Inn to sleep for a few hours and then make it the last 90 minutes home.
The front desk was manned by an Indian guy, early twenties and he looked a bit stoned and confused to have a customer. After fumbling he managed to give me a room card and pointed me around to the backside of the building. I was dead my feet and in one motion swung my bag into the room and opened the door. The room was dark, but the shaft of light from the lit walkway outside illuminated two young women asleep in the same bed. Both were roughly in their twenties. One was on her back, covers up to her midriff with breasts exposed. The other was sleeping over the covers on her stomach, wearing just her underwear.
Neither woke up and I retrieved my bag and slowly closed the door. I went back to the clerk and said, “Umm, yeah, the room you just gave me has a couple of women asleep in it. Can I have a room that isn’t being used?”. I actually think I get it now, or at least can think of a few explanations, but his response was.
“Oh yeah, sorry about that, they must be locals.”
He didn’t say anything else, just handed me a key and gave me room number, completely unfazed and returned to staring at the TV.
I did this once when I was a cashier in a supermarket. It confused the heck out of the customers. The backstory is that I was volunteering as a flag marshal at motorcycle races for a couple of years. The day before I had witnessed my first fatality. I did okay with it at the time, but the next morning at work, I kept seeing the accident over and over again in my head and I just started bawling.
Same story as yours. Another cashier had to take over for me until I got my act together. It was a devestating experience.
Don’t leave us hanging, man. Did you get your coffee!?!?
Her fertility treatments were not working and you had to go and mention eggs.
From the opposite side of the counter…
Many years ago, when I was in my early twenties, I was at a store buying beer.
The cashier was an older woman, probably in her late 40’s or early 50’s. She didn’t ask me for ID, but the whole time that she was ringing me up she was giving me the Evil Eye.
Finally she said “I know all about YOU.”
“I’m sorry,” I stammered out. “What’s this about?”
“YOU know. Don’t try and act like you DON’T.”
“Umm,” I replied, “I think you’ve got me confused with…”
“No… this is about YOU, all right.”
awkward silence
So I left, and it was the end of conversation.
At this point in my life (and still now, I guess) I hadn’t done anything bad enough to warrant this particular dialogue. I had no bad reputation, broke no laws, broke no hearts, broke no noses, scammed no one. My friends and I were all punks and hippies, and we smoked lots of pot, but so did half of the other kids in town.
So to this day, I’m still bewildered about what happened. My best guess is that maybe she had a child my age, who was badly treated by someone who looked like me. But still that doesn’t make a lot of sense, either, 'cause there weren’t a lot of people in my age group who looked and dressed the way I did at the time.
Bewildering.
Enquiring minds want to know.