Timmy’s RoboClerk

tim hortons signShe’s there every weekday morning at the Tim Hortons store on the corner of 153rd Avenue and 127th Street. RoboClerk, the Drive-Thru Queen. She’s there with her system, her speed, her smile. And her neat little piles of change for toonies.

But beware! When you go through RoboClerk’s drive-thru for your breakfast sandwich and double-double, you better wish for a line of cars in front of you. That’s right. You want a line-up. ‘Cause if you’re driving solo, you better have your kaka together: you best have your money in your hand and your arm out the window by the time you get to RoboClerk’s window. Do not – repeat, DO NOT – make RoboClerk wait one nanosecond.

The Bos Lady and I have seen a poor slob endure RoboClerk’s white-hot fury and so we prepare for each morning’s visit as part of our daily good nights….

“You stopping at Timmy’s tomorrow?” asks the Bos Lady.

“Yeah,” I answer.

“The usual large-coffee-two-creams-one-sugar?”

“”You know it."

“Got a toonie?”

“No,” I answer.

“Honey, you know RoboClerk has change for a toonie all lined up in tidy little efficient collections on her counter. YOU’VE GOTTA GET A TOONIE!!”

“I know, dear. Don’t fret. I’ll steal one from Kevin.”

“OK, good…phew! Good thinking. But steal the toonie from Brad; he makes more that Kevs.

“Good point. Night Hon’.”

Night, Hon. Sleep tight.

(kissy kissy: smack-smack-smack)

Yes, we take no chances. We’ve seen RoboClerk rage against that one driver who didn’t have his money ready and thus caused her to wait. He may as well poked a Rottweiler in the eye with his pinky. Because for all she does so well, RoboClerk does not wait well. Not well at all. Her smile flashed over to a sneer and she exploded out of the window, glass flying everywhere, tearing Poor Slob’s door from the hinges.She yanked at Poor Slob’s left arm, ripped it from its socket and beat him with the bloody end of it before spitting out these defiant words:


Having witnessed the stump treatment, the Bos Lady and I are always prepared. I’m a southpaw, y’see.

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