OK, so the Fat Kid likes junk food. I know, I know, big surprise. Well, I had to get fat somehow. Part of my method for "svelt-inizing" myself, then, has been to cut out most of the junk food. Of course, that does not stop me from stopping by the occasional fast-food joint for a once-in-a-while treat. Last week, I stopped by a favorite guilty pleasure: Taco Bell.
Yes, call it "Toxic Hell", or whatever other nickname you want - it hits the spot when I want cheesy-melty-crunchy-fatty-loaded-with-crap-my-body-doesn't-need goodness. And usually makes me remember why I never ate there often anyway. But, I'd been saving a George Washington for just this occasion, and so I stopped. Why? because they'd been hitting the airwaves with their 89-cent 5-layer beefy-whatever-burrito, and that sounded like the perfect price to get something to tide me over for about 6 months.
So, I pulled into the drive-through, and the young lady on the other end asks me to wait just a moment. Naturally, I have no problem with this, as I have to actually read the 1,000 choice (all under $5) on the menu to make sure they're still offering the 89-cent deal I'm looking for. I find it, and am ready to order, but the lady doesn't come back on the loudspeaker. I wait. I problably only waited for about 2 minutes, but in the strange time-warp that is the drive-through lane, this is an eternity. Galaxies have been created, destroyed, and begun anew in this time span while sitting at the drive-through.
"Hello?" I ask.
"Just a moment, please" said the mysterious disembodied voice of the young lady. "Ok, what can I get for you?"
This is when I realize that I am about to look really stupid, for I know that I have now been rushing the poor lass just to order my precious 89-cent arterial nightmare. And that's ALL I'm getting. Yes, I am now THAT GUY WHO COULDN'T WAIT TWO MINUTES TO KILL MY ARTERIES!!! No, that's not fast enough for me. I proceed to order this tasty morsel.
"Is that it?"
"Yes." Great. Now I am not the only one who knows what a complete schmuck I've just been.
"Please pull ahead."
The window is answered by a young woman who asks me if I've been waited on. Clearly, something is awry inside the Taco Bell (as if you didn't already know that just from the fact that I am at a drive-through). The woman finally gets my order straight, and disappears into the magical kitchen that is built by the same people who designed the Keebler Elves' magical cookie tree interior. She is replaced by the owner of the disembodied voice, who seems your average, normal late teen/early 20-something. Which probably means she was 12, in reality.
Trying to make up for the fact that I have now taken up her precious time by ordering my 89-cent bundle of joy, I decide to be a nice guy, and say casually, "Are you short-staffed today?" This could account for the length of time I was waiting, and makes perfect sense. These things happen. I can understand this, as a semi-reasonable adult. Now, this is where it gets...uncomfortable.
"No," she says as I hand her my dollar. "I was just in the bathroom."
If I had been drinking anything, I believe I would have made my first "spit-take" ever. Seriously? Did I just hear this? Of the million excuses she could have handed me that I WOULD HAVE WILLINGLY BELIEVED, she utters this. Heck, I even GAVE her the best excuse - "Yeah, we're stretched pretty thin" would have sufficed. The following list would also have met with my approval:
"I'm new here."
"I'm training a new person."
"We had a delivery earlier, and I was finishing putting things away."
"We had a difficult order."
"My manager was telling me something."
Any of the above, or anything remotely resembling these would have been acceptable, and I would have thought nothing of it.
No, she broke rule #1 of working the drive-through: Drive-through workers only exist from the navel up. There is nothing below that, because I, the driver sitting at the window awaiting my 89-cent 2:30 AM wake-up reminder of why I shouldn't eat there cannot see anything below the navel of the worker. Therefore, it does not exist. Ergo, bodily functions, even though I KNOW they exist, do not exist on this half-bodied individual!
So, I sit there dumbly as she hands me my change. Thankfully, I notice her nails. They are about an inch and a half long, and painted with some intricate design which probably cost her more than she should have paid. However, it's my experience that women who take such pride in their nails would wash their hands well. If I'm mistaken, please, do not tell me. I do not wish to know. As luck would have it, a small plastic bag containing my 89-cent-er appears, and she hands it out the window to me, wishing me a nice day.
Well, I WAS having a nice day until you decided to ruin it!!! Now, I'm not so sure that I want my prize.
As I left the parking lot, I was debating whether to eat this object just handed to me by a woman coming fresh from the bathroom or to throw it out. Of course, I ate it, realizing that she didn't make it and using my current believe system about a woman with fancy nails.
There are two things I took from this experience:
1) Ignorance is bliss, indeed.
2) Shit happens.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Of films and literature...and films of literature.
The Fat Kid likes movies. No, wait - that's not quite right. If you ask my wife, there is NEVER a day that goes by that I do not quote a movie. She has likened me to the CBS Television character Anthony DiNozzo (NCIS, Tuesday nights - can I get paid for this shameless plug?) wherein I make a LOT of movie references. I don't know why, but movie quotes stick with me. And they're all kinds of quotes, too, even some from really bad movies, and some "guilty pleasure" movies, too.
One such guilty pleasure film is a childhood favorite, 'The Neverending Story" - you know, with the flying puppy-dragon-fuzzy-scaley-white thing named Falkor (called a "luckdragon," for those in the know) where the boy reading the book ends up being IN the book by the end?? Yeah, that one. LOVE the film, and I can't say why - because in truth, I don't even know. So, imagine my joy when I found the text from which the movie gets its title on the bookshelves where I work!!! I checked it out with a wide grin on my face, just waiting to go on an adventure with Falkor and his buddies. Of course, I expected there to be differences between the film and the text - a few name changes, some minor characters dropped or combined into one part - the usual stuff that simply doesn't translate to film all that easily. That stuff, I can deal with.
What I got when opening the book, though, was a lesson in why Hollywood screenwriters suck, and that a great writer in one culture can often appear as complete and utter moron in another. Or that I watch way too many movies. Anyway, I found that I disliked the book. For those who know me, the Fat Kid LOVES books. Even if I'm not a superfan of the author or the style, I can generally find some quality about the book that I like. (And if you're reading this, Becky, YES - there are even things about Martin's tome that I adore.) This book on the other hand, felt, as its title suggested, like it would never end!!!
I was merrily reading along, enjoying the story I knew and loved so well. I came to the end of the story, and realized something: I was only halfway done with the book! Those damned Hollywood producers/screenwriters forgot half of it!!!! I pushed on, awaiting the further adventures of all my beloved friends/characters. And something happened. The pace of the book slowed, idled, and seemingly came to a halt from which there was no waking. I was stunned. Not only were my fond memories falling from their pedestal, but they were being replaced by something even worse: The fear that I was a grown-up!!!!!
Oh, I pressed on, and read the further adventures. I saw a pattern emerge. The Hollywood choosers-of-movie-scripts made two errors, and one incredibly astute judgment:
Error 1) They failed to make the rest of the movie.
Wise decision 1)They knowingly failed to make the rest of the movie.
Error 2)They made a sequal instead. And a third installment, which, if you've seen it, I highly recommend a stay in the nearest psychiatric ward and or visit to a hypnotist to block it forever from your mind.
The Hollywood-ers KNEW that they couldn't sell this movie to the public if they left the second half of the book in, that's why they didn't do it! A few changes, some changed dialog, a little more here, and less there, and they discovered they had TWO movies instead of one!!!! I think this is where cocaine usage was at its highest popular level, incidentally, because it was a horrible, horrible, very bad film, more resembling a pile of dung than anything else. Yes, it's true: not everything out of Hollywood should be remembered, especially if it highlights Ben Afleck's acting "ability", a George Lucas script, or anything ever done by Jonathan Brandis, whose eyebrows do more acting than the rest of him combined. Although - to Bradis' credit, he was still young in this picture...I can only hope he's improved with age and experience.
So there you have it. My childhood fantasies are smashed, I've dredged up memories of very bad films, and my faith in Hollywood is yet again crushed by the overwhelming idiocy that reigns supreme in the front offices of movie studios. One of these days I will remind myself to not tempt fate and read the books from whence movies come. Well, unless it's a Michael Chrichton (RIP) novel.
One such guilty pleasure film is a childhood favorite, 'The Neverending Story" - you know, with the flying puppy-dragon-fuzzy-scaley-white thing named Falkor (called a "luckdragon," for those in the know) where the boy reading the book ends up being IN the book by the end?? Yeah, that one. LOVE the film, and I can't say why - because in truth, I don't even know. So, imagine my joy when I found the text from which the movie gets its title on the bookshelves where I work!!! I checked it out with a wide grin on my face, just waiting to go on an adventure with Falkor and his buddies. Of course, I expected there to be differences between the film and the text - a few name changes, some minor characters dropped or combined into one part - the usual stuff that simply doesn't translate to film all that easily. That stuff, I can deal with.
What I got when opening the book, though, was a lesson in why Hollywood screenwriters suck, and that a great writer in one culture can often appear as complete and utter moron in another. Or that I watch way too many movies. Anyway, I found that I disliked the book. For those who know me, the Fat Kid LOVES books. Even if I'm not a superfan of the author or the style, I can generally find some quality about the book that I like. (And if you're reading this, Becky, YES - there are even things about Martin's tome that I adore.) This book on the other hand, felt, as its title suggested, like it would never end!!!
I was merrily reading along, enjoying the story I knew and loved so well. I came to the end of the story, and realized something: I was only halfway done with the book! Those damned Hollywood producers/screenwriters forgot half of it!!!! I pushed on, awaiting the further adventures of all my beloved friends/characters. And something happened. The pace of the book slowed, idled, and seemingly came to a halt from which there was no waking. I was stunned. Not only were my fond memories falling from their pedestal, but they were being replaced by something even worse: The fear that I was a grown-up!!!!!
Oh, I pressed on, and read the further adventures. I saw a pattern emerge. The Hollywood choosers-of-movie-scripts made two errors, and one incredibly astute judgment:
Error 1) They failed to make the rest of the movie.
Wise decision 1)They knowingly failed to make the rest of the movie.
Error 2)They made a sequal instead. And a third installment, which, if you've seen it, I highly recommend a stay in the nearest psychiatric ward and or visit to a hypnotist to block it forever from your mind.
The Hollywood-ers KNEW that they couldn't sell this movie to the public if they left the second half of the book in, that's why they didn't do it! A few changes, some changed dialog, a little more here, and less there, and they discovered they had TWO movies instead of one!!!! I think this is where cocaine usage was at its highest popular level, incidentally, because it was a horrible, horrible, very bad film, more resembling a pile of dung than anything else. Yes, it's true: not everything out of Hollywood should be remembered, especially if it highlights Ben Afleck's acting "ability", a George Lucas script, or anything ever done by Jonathan Brandis, whose eyebrows do more acting than the rest of him combined. Although - to Bradis' credit, he was still young in this picture...I can only hope he's improved with age and experience.
So there you have it. My childhood fantasies are smashed, I've dredged up memories of very bad films, and my faith in Hollywood is yet again crushed by the overwhelming idiocy that reigns supreme in the front offices of movie studios. One of these days I will remind myself to not tempt fate and read the books from whence movies come. Well, unless it's a Michael Chrichton (RIP) novel.
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