WhatABurger

It's been a while, eight years, in fact, that I stopped writing these silly things on a regular basis. 
What started out as a writing exercise took on a life of its own, seven or so years before that. If you are a NEW viewer, please take note of the caveats and disclaimers that are part of the template for this puny effort. It's currently a bit dated, I'll update it as I get the chance.  What will not change is the bit about this being MY OPINIONS and observations based on a SINGLE meal/location unless otherwise indicated.  I claim NO expertise or training in cuisine critique. FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY!  These essays may/will include satire, sarcasm, exaggerations, hyperbole and sometimes rudimentary and/or deeply flawed attempts at comedy for comedy's sake. 
That being said, let's start by re-publishing, with some amendments, a recent, rather lengthy, social media  post:

WhataBurger
3880 W, Sunshine
Springfield MO  
Web Site

I wanted to see what all the hubbub was about. I was flying solo, all by myself, alone,  shopping for a table squeegee (explanation available upon request) and a new deck chair. 
This was near the Menards home store that was the first stop on my quest. 
So I parked and stepped in. It was only noon-ish but already 90+ degrees.

The place:   Unremarkable. Clean, new-ish but nothing fancy or clever.  As I stepped up to the counter, ready to place my order, a completed order was ready for another customer. The lady holding the bag called out "DENNIS, I have an order for DENNIS!"
I checked my time machine and rather quickly remembered that time machines don't exist yet. (or do they?) It took me a few seconds to realize that, oddly enough, another person existed in the universe with my given name.  
I rattled off my order to the guy behind the counter 30 seconds had elapsed since the name calling event. 
"What name shall I put on this order?"
This was weird, awkward.
"Let's just go with Dennis"
He too thought it was weird. I could tell. There was a short pause as he recalculated his next words.
"Hey, are you a MENACE?" He smiled at his own cleverness.
"Excuse me?"
His expression changed from delight to slight worry.
"Uh, you know, 'Dennis the Menace', the old comic strip?"
"No, I have never heard that reference in my entire life."
The 'worried' expression turned to one of confusion and perhaps, fear.
"Really?"  he sheepishly squeaked.
Time to let the guy off the hook.
"Yes, I've heard it before but it stopped being funny to me around second grade."
The young man was now sweating. 

The Food.

Not BAD, just unremarkable. I ordered the #5, bacon cheese WaB. $11.94 with tax. It came with somewhat limp, mediocre fries and a 1/2 gallon styrofoam cup, which I filled with unsweet tea. The drink choice probably sounds blasphemous to my more southern friends and former classmates in Kentucky, where the standard measure for tea is one part tea, one part sugar. I can't do that anymore, Doctor's orders.

The burger itself had already assumed room temperature by the time I snapped and posted the photo. The patty was broad and thin and the standard toppings were plentiful, in fact those on the outer edge of the burger fell off. The lettuce was chopped, my favorite style for a burger or sandwich, since when chopped it can no longer act like one of those aircraft emergency exit slides for the other toppings.

Okay, this bit is a little petty, the cheese.

It had melted a little, which is fine. During the assembly phase though, and EVERY filet-o-fish I've ever had from McD's has had the same issue: ALIGNMENT.

The cheese melts appropriately, then it cools and sets. Basic physics. The patty and bun were not lined up before the melted cheese firmed up again. The bun and patty were welded together lopsided. A full half inch off center. An entire meatless bite on the right side. Arrrgh! Quality control folks, it's a simple thing, but a real thing!

The bun was thin and not too dense or heavy.

There was no ketchup on the tray, table or the self-service kiosk where the napkins and straws were. The counter guy walked around the dining area, checking on customers. As he approached my table he said, with a rising inflection, "Ketchup?"

My mind jumped directly to "Duh, yeah!"

He returned with a tray, where the three or four available ketchup options were sorted in their individual serving sized, peel-top sauce containers. I chose the one he described as 'regular'. That's just the kind of guy I am.

The dining room was about half full, mostly tradespersons from the perpetually, eternally, under-construction Target store down on West Sunshine Street.

So there was no crush of customers.

I heard, a while back, about some town's first WaB location grand opening, lines wrapped around for several blocks. . .

I was expecting to at least be mildly impressed, but alas, I should temper my expectations a little.
A social media 'friend', a delightful, interesting guy that was in high school at the same time as me, though not in the same class, John, commented of the post that: "Living here in Texas I have come to learn that eating at Whataburger for some Texans is a near religious experience."
A religious experience? What is WRONG with Texans?