I Feel You, Drive-thru Girl.

Look, Drive-thru Girl, I know you make $6 an hour, and I know that working in a fast-food restaurant – er, “restaurant” – is not your life-long dream. And I know it can’t be easy to live with the thought that your eyebrows will never grow back, or that you will never learn to spell or serve fast food because instead of going to high school you’re working at a burger drive-thru, but its not my fault you thought you heard “regular – not Diet in any way and perhaps with some sugar added – Coke, please!’ and fucked up my order. It also doesn’t help that you got mad at ME because you  couldn’t get a simple drink order correctly and that you attemtped to convince us both that I ordered the wrong thing (as I’m sure hungry, paying customers do all the time just for giggles).  Also, I saw you give me the finger when I drove away.

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