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Frank Gumola - Journal | Weblog

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Story Time!

It started innocently enough. The Boyfriend had a craving and asked me to bring him home some dinner. I politely asked my ride home if he wouldn't mind stopping since it was just a few blocks from my home. So we get to the drive through of McHellhole, I place my order, and the fun begins. Of course.

Now, you need to understand that this particular McHellhole basically finds the nearest barrel, scrapes the bottom of it, and slaps an 'employee of the month' label on whatever they find. Bada ba ba bah, I hate those people. Not all McHellhole employees; I ain't bashing fast food workers. Just. This. Location.

After inching forward in said friend's vehicle for what seemed an eternity (ok, so it was like ten minutes, but i just got done working nine hours and just wanted to get home to my man) we finally made it to window number one. No smile, no "hello", just a hand stretched out a glass window. Of course I know better than to expect any kind of polite behaviour at such an establishment. So I pass my fetti to Porkchop and he, in turn, gives it to generic McHellhole worker who in turn returns my change. Without. A. Word.

No, "Please drive to window two."
No, "Your food is that way."
Nothing but a blank stare.

So we wait ten more minutes. Inching forward, to window two. Meanwhile, cars are zipping by us at speeds I've only seen at NASCAR races.

Me: "Did we miss the express lane?"
He: "No. We missed the drug dealers."
Me: "My bad. Dammit."
(insert laughtrack)

As we finally pull up to window two, the young lady (with a really, really bad weave) not-so-eloquently informs us that we need to pull over and wait. What? Wait for what? I ordered three friggin' sandwiches and an order of fries. What, exactly, am I waiting for? AND, I've already waited almost twenty minutes. Oh. Hell. No.

I promptly and politely ask for my money back. And was told I would have to wait.

Here's where the story gets good. I am just about to launch into "I am a bigger Diva than you" mode, mouth agape, ready to spring when Porkchop (who is straighter than a twelve inch ruler) asks for the manager in a very unpleasant way.

Me: "Damn, gorl."
He: Blank stare, huge grin.

Miss bad weave then tells us to just take our food. Um, no. By now I have something else in mind for dinner and I just want my money.

Miss fatass manager shows up with my food. Erm, no. I am now fuming.

I felt like that kid from the movie "Better Off Dead".

I hide my anger just long enough to ask for my money one more time. No more waiting, just give me my cash.

Fatass manager rolls both her eyes and the top of my bag of goodies. I swear, it was like she was taunting me with McChicken sandwiches!

Money in hand, we speed off.

Me: "Sorry."
He: "Don't be. At least now you have something funny to write about."

The End

(i swear this story is about 99% accurate. i may have embellished here and there, but who wouldn't when talking about McHellhole?)

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