A&w - Littleton

Just wanted a chili dog, still added cheese. Buns hard as a rock. I won't be eating this meal.

Asked for an extra medium water and the manager running the drive through came and yelled obscenities aswell as given the finger as we left this incident occurred april 21 at 10:11 i hope he changes his attitude or fixes his deminor

Food was horrible. Cold chili dog with a stale bun. Brownie was ice cold. Long wait for what? I was just reminded why I stopped coming here years ago. How are they still open?

For the price I was disappointed, it literally to 22 minutes to get a Chicken sandwich combo, fries, cheese curds and 3 diet Root beer. Will not recommend

I wish I had read these reviews before stepping foot in this landfill. Though the experience I 'm to share is 2 hours and many, many steps in my rear view, my shoes are still sticky from the disgusting floor. The story begins with me at the counter, watching the manager walk back and forth but do nothing in particular. When I finally ahem for her attention, she is cold and short, clearly annoyed at having been troubled to do her job. I order a large sized meal with a float. Several people come in, order, receive their food, and leave. I wait patiently. I receive (what I know now was a medium float: manager lady rudely sets it on the counter in front of me without a hint of pleasantry. Pure scorn. It comes in a medium sized beverage cup, which I assume must be the cup for the large float, as such is not uncommon nowadays. Assuming baseline competence (poor assumption! , I see no reason to question this at the time. I sip on the terrible tasting float as I wait for the rest of my meal, wondering how these jokers could eff up a root beer float. Rootbeer vanilla ice cream mmm mmm good right? Wrong they effed up the un eff upable. Finally, an unpleasant fellow named Jessie asks what I had ordered. They have not even begun preparing my food. A young fellow with whom I have no issue gets to work on my order. I notice that he is preparing a small order of fries and point out that I had ordered the large, and manager lady becomes argumentative, insisting I had not asked for the large size. I had, of course. Rather than apologize for her error, she continues to insist that I was lying. She 'flawlessly ' deduces that since I did not complain about what was obviously a medium float, I could not have ordered a large. She doesn 't even bother listening as I explain that I couldn 't possibly have known it was not a large. In her small, hateful mind, the matter is settled, and customer service be damned. I 've finally had enough of her vitriol and I call a spade a spade; actually, I call this s thole a s thole, and I ask for a refund. Unpleasant Jessie from earlier re emerges as bats t crazy, moronic Jessie. He demands that I return the food they had served me (finally before trying to provoke me into a fist fight. He storms out from behind the counter, gets right in my face (I can smell cigarettes and pickles , and stares me down with bulging, psychotic, murderous eyes. During this 'standoff ', which lasts at least 30 seconds, I repeatedly demand that he get out of my face. He repeatedly challenges me to make him. Smiling, I wait patiently for him to either back off or gift me a financial windfall (I am by no means litigious, but when in Rome . Finally, Jessie listens to the pleas of manager lady (she is clearly aware of stakes that poor Jessie just.. isn 't and backs off, but not before cowardly whispering f er . Manager lady demands that I leave, and I assure her there is nothing I would rather do, but not without my refund. She continues to berate me for causing problems with her staff. I lazily mention that she and her staff ARE the problem and add off handedly that Jessie had called me a f er. She, of course, hears only f er and explodes at me for cursing at her. I calmly explain that, no, I am simply informing you of the curse words that your Neanderthal employee directed at me. She resumes berating me. Yada yada yada. As I 'm leaving, Jessie is still insisting I meet him out back to throw down, his violent bug like eyes dancing back and forth, pleading for manager lady to bless the Donnybrook he so desired. Poor Jessie. Oh, manager lady, you didn 't even give me my full refund. You kept the tax for your troubles, I suppose. Oh yeah, no receipt, either. Didn 't even ask if I wanted one. I suppose you fancy yourself a victim: scorned by the big bad world, you unleash hellish fury on all who happen upon you, indiscriminately setting ablaze the innocent and wicked, alike. Hell bent in your quest, you won 't stop until you 've burnt the whole wretched thing down or died trying.