Some time ago, the local Checkers (Rally’s to some of you) fucked up my order. Worse, they took 20 minutes to do it. Even more worse, they did it at 1 in the morning when I was moderately drunk and craving three greasy fat-packed cheeseburgers. After stumbling home, I found that my burgers had NO cheese on them. What the fuck.
I’m not one to hold a grudge over what could have been a simple oversight on their end, or my drunk ass not speaking clear enough. A few nights later, my friends and I went to Checkers again at 1 AM, this time completely sober. I ordered two cheeseburgers and an order of fries, while my one buddy ordered the same. Another friend ordered the Big Buford (pretty much their version of the Big Mac), and a large Coke. After waiting 30 minutes for our order to be made, we finally received our shit. And that’s what it was: SHIT.
The fries were way overcooked. It’s a fucking deep fryer, not rocket science. From personal experience, the only way the fries could have gotten the way they did was by leaving them cook in the fryer for longer than 10 minutes.
My burgers had cheese. Unfortunately, my friend’s didn’t for whatever reason. Adding to the confusion, mine had tomatoes on them (their regular cheeseburgers don’t come with anything but cheese, mustard, ketchup, and pickles). I fucking hate tomatoes. They dilute the flavor of anything they’re on with their acidic bullshit. Were the thugged-out morons responsible for making our food getting high in the kitchen or something?
My poor friend’s Big Buford might as well been a plain cheeseburger, since it had none of its usual condiments (lettuce, tomato, onions, etc). A burger he paid like $3 for. His Coke? Nope, just iced tea.
Alright, maybe it’s the night crew. Maybe shit is slower because it’s 1 AM. Unlikely, but possible I suppose. I attempted to explain this to my friends, but only one was willing to accept this farfetched idea. So we went the next day for lunch, each ordering just two cheeseburgers. This time we waited 15 minutes. No cheese. AGAIN. This time the fries weren’t burnt, but they skimped. And by skimped, I mean there was like 6 or 7 fries in each of our fry bags.
REALLY? How do you fuck shit up this fucking bad?! This wouldn’t do. I plotted my revenge. I was going to make their life HELL for fucking up my food. You don’t fuck up my food, motherfucker.
When it comes to fucking with people, prank phone calls are my strong suit. I can drive someone crazy or I can get them to laugh at my antics. Hell, I can start a serious conversation with my victims about how their day is going, their views on something, or their favorite food. I kept some lady talking for 5 minutes about hoagies. I know, right? Awesome. Checkers was going to regret fucking up my food.
Remembering that the place was staffed by pretty much all black people, I started calling up and asking for random stereotypical black names, like “Tyrone”, “Jamal”, “Malik”, and “Archibald, God of Thunder”. Eventually they caught on and would simply hang up on me when I called and asked for one of these names. Non-responders suck. I needed something sharp and edgy to cut through the monotony of hang-ups. I recalled a nickname this black kid in 6th grade had, “Niggarachi”. I don’t know why or what it even meant, but I know that it was fucking hilarious. Myself and a few friends began a 5 month-long campaign of calling Checkers almost daily and asking for Niggarachi, usually in funny or ghetto voices. When asked “Who you lookin’ for?”, Niggarachi was always “dat tall ass nigga wit da ‘fro”. Some highlights of the campaign:
-Me pretending to be “Walter from Corporate”, saying that I received several complaints about rude service from Niggarachi. They swore up and down that Niggarachi didn’t work there, and eventually caught on when I told them to clean the fucking shit out of their ears after they kept asking me to repeat myself over and over.
-Getting an employee fired for my calls. This wasn’t intentional at all, but ended up happening when I apparently got the manager, who said “Yo I know who this is, you fired.”
-Them threatening to call the police, and me replying “I AM THE LAW!”. This turned into a 5 minute argument where I attempted to convince them that I was a third-shift cop who was bored off my ass. My friend thinks that I may have succeeded in convincing them had I not started saying “I’m yo daddy bitch! Don’t you disrespect yo pops like dat! Imma take my belt off and whoop yo ass son!”. I personally believe that it was the moment when I started singing the theme song for “COPS”.
-Me being over there with a friend and hearing the phone ring, only to hear the manager tell the girl not to answer it because “It’s dat nigga prank callin us”. I have them terrified to answer their phones now, LOL.
-Me pretending to be the FBI, asking for “Tyreek Wayans”. I had the manager spend five minutes trying to convince me that there was nobody there by that name who worked there before I said “His alias is ‘Niggarachi’ if it helps.” He cursed me out. I asked him if he was mad, bro.
I was having so much fun, I figured why not let others share that fun as well? I called up two Chinese food places, and had them send food to Checkers, giving them the name “Nick Rachi” (which sounds pretty much like Niggarachi when you say it outloud). Me and one of my friends waited across the street and watched as the delivery guys pulled up to deliver the food. One delivery guy was there for a good 10 minutes. I wish I had been able to hear that conversation.
This wasn’t enough. Everyone needed to know how fun it was to fuck with Checkers. A couple of weeks later I called up three different pizza places and had them deliver large pepperoni strombolis to Nick Rachi. I didn’t feel like waiting outside to see if they came, but I can only assume they did.
The following week, I pulled what was probably the most devious prank of all.
I have an app on my phone called “Bluff My Call”. Basically, this app spoofs phone numbers on the target’s caller ID. This is useful, since many people tend not to answer for blocked numbers. Even better, you can’t trace the true number using the old *69 call-back method. The only downside is a two-minute time limit, but that’s not a big deal if you know what you’re doing.
I used BMC to call several fast food restaurants and set the app so my number was that of Checkers. My MO was the same each time. “Hi, this is Nick Rachi. I’m a manager at Checkers. I received an obscene call from your number five minutes ago.” It was always “Hold on. (asks employees if they called Checkers) They said they didn’t.” I would reply “Your phone number is (number), correct?” Of course it was correct, and this furthered my story. I ensured them that I knew it wasn’t whoever answered the phone, and asked them to look into it further for me, since some of the stuff said to my employees was very nasty. I asked them to call me back with anything they might find, and left the number of Checkers, along with my name. My story was furthered by the fact that their caller IDs displayed the number of Checkers. I had to mute the phone to bust my gut laughing when a foreign manager of Burger King said the name out loud and it sounded exactly like Niggarachi. They all ensured me that they would call me back. Yeah, I managed to convince a bunch of other fast food chains to call Checkers looking to talk to “Niggarachi the Manager” regarding prank calls that Checkers received.
One day, they made the mistake of trying to fight back.
By some fluke, I managed to get a white guy. By even more of a fluke, he happened to be an anime fan. I have no idea what this weeaboo would be doing working at a place staffed by a bunch of ghetto thugs, the majority of which weren’t white. As long as the money’s green, I guess. During my attempt to seek out Niggarachi, the guy introduced himself as Broly, a Dragon Ball Z character. As if a Legendary Super Sayan would be working at a dump like Checkers. I had 5 pizzas sent to this puny little smart ass, giving the name Broly to the nice young lady who took my order. My friend and I then went to the corner near Checkers and waited until the pizza guy showed up with “Broly’s” order. A moment later, the driver came storming out of the Checkers, followed by a long-haired white guy who I assume was “Broly”. The little wuss looked nothing like a Super Sayan! Both the driver and “Broly” were yelling at one another. Sadly, an attempt to get closer and make out what was being said would have resulted in my cover being blown. Not like I couldn’t outrun them, but my buddy Slim was with me. Slim, whose nickname is meant in the same way as that big black guy in prison named “Tiny”, was anything but fast. He would have been captured and most likely would have cracked under interrogation by the Checkers crew. We went back to the house, mildly amused.
About an hour later, I called “Broly” to ask if he got the pizzas I sent him. Apparently they refused to pay and the pizza place said they were calling the cops. I replied “You mad broly?” and laughed like a lunatic before hanging up. That’ll teach that smart-assed little Wapanese fuck.
These events all took place over the course of about six months. Severals month after I grew bored of pranking them, my morbid curiosity got the better of me and I decided to stop in to see if anything changed. The girl taking my order was polite and efficient, my friends and I got our food quickly, and they even threw in an extra burger free of charge. My calls had had an impact. I had succeeded in putting the fear of God into these morons.
Why boycott a place when a steady campaign of harassment works 10 times better?