There was this time, I was at this McDonald's in--Kansas? Nebraska? South Dakota?--some flyover state. And the cashier took something like five orders ahead of me, gave each person a receipt, and told them to wait for their order.
When I got up front and gave my order, she asked me to step to the side. I refused. I stood there and waited for my food, and kept her from taking more orders.
I mean, it was fucking MCDONALD'S--where these managers are supposed to have gone to burger college, or something. Where you should KNOW that you don't take SIX orders (that's including mine) and then try and take a seventh, without even starting to pour the drinks for the first one. She had a lot of hostile people in line.
I was DEFINITELY one of them, but really, I was giving the woman a break; an excuse to actually, oh, I dunno, DO HER FUCKING JOB. (Granted, she was seriously impeded by a co-worker who was obviously hopped up on meth and Red Bull, but even so.)
It wasn't Burger King, or Whataburger, or any place where there's a protocol for giving people a receipt and making them wait a while for their order.
I was really mad. I was going to write a letter. But I didn't.
Because, you know, it was just in one of those flyover states.
And you know, Hell defines its own levels.
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