Saltines.

I was working drive-thru as usual.

This guy comes through, and he ordered a salad.

I handed him all of his junk, but before I could slam the window on him, he inquires

"Do you have any crackers?"

I glanced away, wondering if he was serious.
He was.

"No, sir, we don't have any crackers."

He looked at me as if I was lying to him.

"Are you sure you don't have any?" He asked again.

I rolled my eyes slightly as I replied,

"Sir, the only cracker in here is me."

Needless to say, he stared at me blankly for a second before muttering a half-hearted "Thanks." And driving away.

Sausage Biscuits and Cups O'Water.

I really can't understand why people make such a BIG GODDAMN DEAL out of something so incredibly miniscule.

You know how that can be so aggravating, right?

The one thing that pisses me off more than anything about people, is how they manage to be so ridiculously hung up on things that are so unimportant. I'm talking about the stupid dip-shits that come into my store every morning, when I work--and BITCH.

Last time I checked, you're not a Ugandan orphan.

Last time I checked, you have enough money in your pocket to go to the grocery store and spend it on substantial food--instead of standing here, spending it at this place.

Perhaps even more infuriating is the cheap-asses.

You come in the drive thru expecting for me to stick two butters, four grape jellies, a knife, and extra napkins in your bag.

OH--AND you want a "cup o'water".

You want a cup of water because you're a cheap mother fucker who doesn't want to pay for an actual drink. If you're coming to an establishment like this, you're asking to pay for something. I think we should start charging a dollar for every cup of water--they'd literally be paying for the cup, and not what's in it.

I mean...I'm standing here, and I'm being nice to you despite the fact that I want to smack you in the face...

The very least you could do is be nice to me in return.

Oh, but NO...we'll have attitudes. We'll not be decent.

WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?!

I have never been treated so vilely at any other job I've ever worked at...and that's saying a lot, because I've almost constantly worked with the public.

In case you're wondering:

I'm NOT a single mother.
I'm NOT on social assistance.
I'm NOT trying to jip you.

I'm just a college student trying to work her way through school payments...and the LEAST of my worries is making sure your BISCUIT is the right temperature.

Bitches.

The Conveniently Attractive Assistant Manager

He is entirely intolerable.

His manners are temperamental, and prone to outbursts that are not altogether sound. He is somewhat laughable when provoked, amusing when angry, and when he is feeling most proud--this is when he is most pliable.

He is perhaps more senile than any older gentleman I've encountered.

He is charmed easily, and falls victim to a flattering comment or a delicious excuse for humor.

I wished him naked only to point and mock.

His body is proportioned, and masculine--all, save his ass.
His ass is heaven, and belongs on a Playmate.

It's ironic his best physical feature is oddly feminine in nature.

When his fancy is tickled, an uncommonly charming smirk forms in the corner of his mouth.
In the event that he is reading this now, he is most likely wearing it.

He is attracted to vice. He is never quite willing to bend backwards, however he is quick to be helpful when it suits him.

I worked with him for six and a half months, and I don't believe I ever told him how incredibly inspiring he was. Most of his jokes were critical of others, and obnoxiously rude...but for some very strange reason, I related with him more than anyone else in the place.

I was very sad when he left.

His uncanny ability to piss me off and elate me in the same instance is entirely missed.

The Entitlement of the Morbidly Obese.

As you can very well imagine, working in this industry affords me to run into people of unconventional size...

Frankly, I would be willing to confess that <30% of people who come through the drive thru fall into the physical category of "obese"...and <100% of these people are likely to piss me off.

Why? Well...I'll tell you why...

It's because most of these people feel the need to demand ridiculously, make seemingly laughable requests, and usually just act plain rude.

I'm incredibly sorry, madame wearing a muumuu with arms that are the circumference of a WHOLE fucking HAM, but do I happen to be wearing a name tag that says "Your Bitch"?
I don't believe so.

I suppose one of the best examples of why my rage is so manic occurred the other morning--a woman, who occupied the entire front seats of her car, came through the drive thru around 7:15am. She ordered a large coffee.
I fixed her the coffee, not realizing that it was the same coffee from the day before, and therefore cold.
She left, and thirty minutes later, came BACK around to inform me that her coffee didn't meet her standard of correct temperature.
As I was brewing another pot, I told her it would take a minute...to which she replied "if I drive around to the parking lot, will you bring it out to me?"
I must confess, I looked at her as if she was indeed stupid.

I am young and able, but this doesn't mean I serve those who have allowed themselves to become so large as to be COMPLETELY FUCKING IMMOBILE.

I don't understand...yes, you may not be able to get out of your car anyway in order to come inside and sit down and wait for your coffee, but perhaps this ought to tell you something about yourself?

Does one need an intervention? Jenny Craig?

I don't care about what issues you have with yourself, everyone struggles with their weight but only a few certain people allow it to get to out of hand. Just because you're enormous does not mean I owe you any kind of special treatment. I get it, you're semi-disabled, but does it really look like I'm in the mood to indulge you when you're already huge and sitting in the window of a fast food joint?

Are you really trying to help yourself?
Do you WANT me to open my mouth and be rude--because trust me, standing there looking at you, it's taking so much dignity out of me to smile and be polite.

I think what pisses me off he most is when enormous people come in with their kids...their LITTLE kids. And they're feeding them fries...and nuggets...and being picky and choosy about toys...

Do you realize what you're teaching your young child?

Do you know how many health issues this kid will be able to attribute directly to you?

Do you know what when you order everything large, that this kid is looking up at you and wanting to do what you do...so eventually they'll want to start ordering everything large as well, simply to mimic your behavior?

Bottom line is, I'm tired of dickish obese people.
I refuse to walk on water for you just because you're enormous.


Stop being dicks.
Switch to Subway.

You Will Never Know...

Oh, you who read this...

You probably have no idea what goes through the mind of a fast-food worker when you order everything ass-backwards...or when you modify something twenty times...or when you change your mind at the last minute...

Plainly, you're a fucking annoying asshole the second you come through the drive-thru, or even inside the door. We've already profiled you as the type of person who can't go to the market and get your own food to prepare. And, despite how many times we (the workers) have been guilty of the fast-food craving...we still think you're awful people.

We frankly CANNOT STAND YOU.

We speak cheerfully when you order, when you change things, when you want onion rings instead of fries...we ring up your total without a glitch...or so you think.

Really, we're just standing there praying you shut the hell up and make it as short and sweet as possible.

The difference between an "asshole" customer, and an "easy" customer can be exemplified thus:


An "Easy" customer, will order this way:

WHOPPER JR.
LARGE FRIES
LARGE COKE


An "Asshole" customer, will order this way:

WHOPPER JR.
NO PICKLES
EXTRA LETTUCE
LIGHT ON THE MUSTARD
OFF THE BROILER CUT IN HALF
MEDIUM (VOID) LARGE FRIES
NO SALT
OFF THE FRYER
LARGE COKE
LITE ICE


Do you now see?

Do you now understand how absolutely ridiculous it is for me to try to explain?

I never really realized what it was like to be standing there, witnessing a rapid decline in culinary culture and the raise of industrial commercialism. I mean, these things really start to sink in when you see obese parents on the daily coming in and ordering eight piece chicken nuggets and fries for their small children...
Little do their pea-brains comprehend that they are feeding a constantly growing monster of an instant-gratification society.

I know I'm getting a little deep with this, but hear me out:

My own habits have began to change because of my involvement in this business.
I find myself not buying fast food, on the grounds of sensibility.
I realize now that there is a plethora of possibilities waiting for me in my own kitchen cupboard, and all I need do is think a little of how to put them all together, and I have a wonderfully new dish with which to satisfy myself.

The next time you think about ordering fast food, imagine what else you could be doing instead...

maybe then, you'd be making my job a little easier.

"Bright Kidz" and "Baby Daddys".

I am not African-American.
This is obvious.

Whilst working, I usually take the fact that I'm "different" with humorous gravity.
By "different", I mean Caucasian.

While other races have had the opportunity to call themselves the fateful minority...I have been dwelling in the sanctum of oblivion. I can only imagine that my ignorance has stemmed from years of convincing myself that there is no such thing as "color".

For years I have been telling myself there is no such thing as a "white" culture, and there is no such thing as a "black" culture--we're all just a bunch of aimless wax crayons looking for a cozy box--apparently, most of the people I work with would disagree.

The way it all came about, was when I heard some of my coworkers discussing another fellow coworker (who, of course, wasn't present at the time) named Ty.

Ty apparently has a child with one woman, and a child on the way with another.

He was being aptly referred to as a "baby daddy".

A girl named Britney had become especially excited about the revelation of Ty's escapades, and insisted that he was trying to "start something" with her, because he "kept texting me all day callin me his bae"...to which she replied "nigga, i ain't yo bae".

About a half an hour later, I was helping Britney with an order, and she appeared to still be charred about the revelations of earlier.

"I don't want a man to come into my life and then the second I get pregnant with his child, he'll up and leave." She stated frankly, shoving the bag of burgers out the drive-thru window.

"It's about finding the right kind of guy." I replied, trying to soothe her.

"That's just what most black men do."

"Huh?"

"That's just not how it is."

I didn't understand.

I was pondering this all day, wondering if most black women think the same way. I like to have an open mind about things. I'd like to think that if the circumstances led me to fall in love with a black man, he wouldn't fall into the same frame of mind as the men Britney was speaking of.

Another thing occurred when I was hanging out with Britney, Ty, and one of my co-managers, Danielle. The three of them are black, differing in color, and were making jokes about "bright" and "dark".

When I inquired about "bright" and "dark", I was looked at as if I was retarded, and an attempt at an in-depth explanation ensued. Still not fully understanding, I compared everyone's skin, and concluded innocently that Ty was the "darkest".

I tried to make a joke, saying I was "the brightest of them all".

This was met with nervous laughter, and Britney's loud chortle of "DIS WHITE GUH CRAZY!"

F***k.

I probably could've been fired for this one, if the wrong person happened to be around at the wrong time.

My friend Mason is a twenty-something, whose training to become an assistant manager. We happened to be working the second window at the same time, and we were having one of those odd heart-to-hearts that coworkers tend to have when things are slow.

Mason is extremely suppressed and lethargic.

I'm always curious, and of course I wanted to get to the bottom of his seemingly emotionless attitudes.

Of course, it had to do with a woman.

Particularly, his girlfriend of five years. According to Mason, in the time they've been dating, she's managed to lose an engagement ring, cheat excessively, and turn him from a fun-loving individual into a completely stoic shell.

Bravo, Mason.

Of course as he's telling me all this, I'm feeling sympathy for the kid. We're also preparing an order that I don't happen to realize is a 4 piece kid's chicken nugget.

Just as a very snooty looking bitch in a suburban drives up to the second window (which Mason naturally has forgotten to close) I say in a very loud, forceful voice

"You have to stand up for yourself, man! She's a fucking bitch, forget her!"

As I turn around with a triumphant nod of my head, I don't notice Mason's awkward reaction. I also don't notice Mason's awkward reaction is a direct result of the snooty bitch in the suburban's mortified expression. The five year old in her passenger's seat is giggling.

Of course she asks to speak to the manager.

Lucky for me, the manager that day happened to be the relatively jovial Danielle. Danielle and I are on very good terms, thanks to her being one of the very first veterans who took me under her wing in the beginning.

I didn't find out my situation until I returned to the front, and found myself confronted by a surprisingly nervous Mason, who told me he'd "stick up for me" if shit went array.

Danielle is laughing.

She tells me the lady was "extremely pissed" at the "unprofessional attitude of the staff", before driving off in a flurry of dust and gravel.

Danielle, still laughing, guffaws to us both--"I wanted to tell her, 'LADY, this ain't da HOTEL RITZ naw.' "

She patted me on the back, and told me I was safe. Though my cheeks were red and gave away my true feelings on the matter, I smiled cockily and replied with something characteristically snarky.


Phew.
Close call.