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.
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