CHAPTER I
I was going to go off about how 60% of my drive-thru experiences are Shakespearean scenarios.
When I first read this thread, I immediately reminisced thru my flashback archive of fast food managers’ whose life’s, I have forever altered. However, I will just briefly get the idea across by saying a couple things regarding this interesting facet of my life.
At least once a month, for the past however many decades, I personally greet one of these power mongers at the counter with a wronged delivery of specified items. Not that I am overly creative in any star bursting kind of way, nor do I demand attention for my creative invention…but. It is usually an epic, worthy, as an example for the way the Harvard debate team should conduct themselves.
If you have ever imagined, what it would be like to be in a complete vacuum with zero gravity, that would describe the appearance of said manager when I was thru with him. Concurrently, the other managers who do not get the pleasure of being sucked into the black hole of altruistic guilt, all happen to be blessed with spirit. Based on this simple scientific evidence, 40% of all fast food managers are female.
I’m just really grateful I was capable of refraining myself from going off about drive-thru’s.
In closure, my basic experience with fast food places is simple, drive thru, walk thru, and their through.
So I often wonder about how lives I have saved from the corporate career oriented world of make believe.
CHAPTER II
To begin with, I am allergic to onions, combined with the fact that it takes great skills to produce the exact perfection according to the picture on the wall, it is their duty to me as a loyal American citizen and frequent customer who knows the entire crew on a first name basis.
That is usually the plan as I am getting out of the truck while slamming the door loud enough to shake the windows inside the store. Upon entering said establishment, the torn bag usually gets caught in the door. I find other customers quite friendly by allowing to go to the front of the line and splatting the burger wide open on the counter. After all, how else can you prove that it has onions on it, they don’t know I can smell them miles away.
So enter the cashier, horrified and bewildered, he is now shocked by the fact I know his first name, and he does not know mine. To his ultimate demise, he calls for the manager. Then not knowing if I am in line, or to call the next customer, there is that awkward moment of silence shared by the entire place. They are looking at him like, “well, now what are you going to doâ€. After trying to avoid my impatient glaring frown, which is almost permanent anyway, he wipes the counter clean while trying to compose him self
Eventually, the manager will come slap the poor bastard and get pimple all over his hand, then want to shake mine. I do not shake hands until the other hand has a free burger in it, I got my boundaries you know. So during the explanation of why his employees have personally attacked my medical conditions and the fact that every single person in the food chain is conspiring to make him look bad. I point to the crowd of on lookers to provide an example of how they are not doing their job, if they were, it would not be so backed-up right now.
The whole scene usually goes to the end of the counter where I whisper loudly to the manager as a hint, and pretty soon we are both whispering until I get what I want, the way I want it. And of course he is then schooled on the company policy that ha owes me an apple pie for my inconveniences and emotional stress caused by his inadequate control over his employees. And if I am on a roll, I will demand fresh warm fries and the original burger. My dog likes cold fries and doesn’t mind the smell of onions on her met patty and the birds like the bread. If the guy was really as rude as me, then I will get a refill on the drink that I had to suck down to keep from going to the liquor store and ruin all my years of quality sobriety seniority.
CHAPTER III
If the Nazi Bastards are going to build something in my neighborhood, my city my state or in my country, they better have a better excuse as a front than a fast food joint.
When I order a menu item and request “no onions pleaseâ€, I make sure when they repeat the order that they say “no onionsâ€. Sometimes this takes time to get the point across to narrow minded bleeding heart liberal jerks looking for an excuse to be a victim.
When the onions arrive in my order, the have found their calling. I feel sorry for them, so I give them an excuse to be a victim.
