Posts Tagged ‘questions’

The Three Questions Lady

Two things you probably already know about me: I like swearing and I like ranting. Today’s post will include both, and I also intend to show just how little it takes to set me off! Three simple questions could do it at any given time! Enjoy!

I was working at the counter today rather than spending my whole shift in the drive thru. When you’re working at the counter, you help the drive thru team if you’re not busy.

I wasn’t busy so I went over to the window to hand out an order that was ready.

A lady is sitting there, waiting in a blue car (not the racist in a blue car, I’ve made up my mind that if she comes back, I’m going to tell her to go fuck herself, and then deny it. I’ve been there for years and never done anything like that, she’s a racist. I think the manager will take my side.) This is a-totally-unrelated-probably-not-racist-lady-in-a-blue-car. I give her the drink, followed by the bag of food. “Here you are, have a nice day.”

“What kind of pop is this?” Are you fucking kidding me lady? Standard question in my *ahem* chosen profession: ‘fries and cola with that?’ FOR THE SAKE OF MY SANITY, PLEASE FUCKING PAY ATTENTION.

I look back at the screen to see. “It’s Cola ma’am.” WHY IN THE FUCK DON’T YOU KNOW WHAT DRINK YOU PAID FOR?

“OK, is there lots of ketchup in the bag?” Ummm, I fucking doubt it since it was ready when I got here and YOU DIDN’T ASK ME FOR ANY. Do you have any idea how dumb that question is? There’s not likely to be ANY fucking ketchup in the bag, nevermind ‘lots’. Stupid bitch.

“I doubt it, but I’ll get you some,” as I reach for some ketchup packets. ‘Lots’? How the hell am I supposed to know what ‘lots’ is to you? You have one goddamned order of french fries, are you stocking up at home? Really, who cares if I know what ‘lots’ means to you, why the hell would you need THAT much anyway? “Here you go” I say as she cups her hands together apparently so she can handle this bounty of ketchup packets she thinks she’s about to receive. What is this, the fucking ketchup kitchen? Fuck off lady.

“One more thing,” she says, JESUS LADY, THE DRIVE THRU IS SUPPOSED TO BE FAST. “Is the receipt in the bag?”

I know she doesn’t know that I didn’t put the food in the bag, but THE FUCKING BAG IS IN YOUR HAND LADY. I CANNOT SEE THROUGH THE BAG. I look behind me, the receipt is not on the receipt printer, so I would assume it’s in the bag. “I didn’t get the bag ready ma’am, I only came over to help and just handed it out, it should be in the bag,” I say politely.

She looks in the bag. This endeavour took way to many seconds. I LIVE MY DRIVE THRU LIFE IN SECONDS PEOPLE, HURRY THE FUCK UP. After a little digging around she looks up with a ‘proud of herself look’ and exclaims “Oh yes, it’s here. Thank You.” She smiles and drives off.

No, THANK YOU for getting the fuck out of the drive thru – FINALLY. People in the line are possibly starving at this point, and it’s your fault lady. Go fuck yourself. See, I told you it didn’t take much to set me off.

 

 

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