Outback Networks Their Answering Machines? What D'ya Say, Mate?

The other night, I called Outback to place a “takeaway” order.

The recording, after going through so much sales spiel, said the restaurant was closed.

It’s Tuesday night.  I know that’s not right.  Outback is our takeaway place of choice.  You can eat pretty healthy there.
Salad, veggies, split a steak and we're good.  And I dang sure know their schedules.

So, I drive up there.

I park in the “takeaway” parking spaces.  There are no cars in the spaces.  Zero.  Weirdness.  You usually have to wait for a takeaway ordering car to move so you can park. It's a great restaurant, with great take-out food.

I wait a minute, and decide to write down my order, and take it in.

I walk in to the order station.  There's a customer standing there, one that's a polo player.  Or polo horse owner, anyway. I can't remember his name, but I've met him.  I say hello.

I tell the young lady working, “I tried to call in, but your machine says you’re closed.”

She says, “Yes, I know.”

Me:  “You know?”
Her:  “Well, our manager knows.  He doesn’t know how to fix it.”
Me:  “Really?”
Her:  “Yes.  It’s going on at Outbacks all over the country.”
Me:  “Really?”
Her:  “Yes.  Our answering machines are all networked, so when one Outback is closed, they’re all messed up - the machines all say they're closed.”
Me:  “Really?”

This customer, I'll call him Mr. Polo, standing beside me, is shaking his head “Yes.”  Like he knows, too. Or, maybe, he’s heard the drill, already.

Me:  “You know, I don’t think that’s the case.”
Her:  “Why not?”
Me:  “Because your answering machine notes that this is the Loop 250 location.”

Her:  “What?”
Me:  “Your answering machine says this is the Loop 250 location of Outback, in Midland, Texas.”

Her:  speechless
Mr. Polo:  Looks at me, nodding “Yes.”  Again.
Me:  “You might want to let your manager know that.  Okay?”  

I sweetly give her my hand-written order, smile, and go to the car to wait.  

I’ve still not figured out what the heck Mr. Polo knew that I didn’t.

And I don't think anyone spit in our food.

Or that's my story anyway - and I'm sticking to it, Mate.