McBastard

I went to McDonald's the other day. I don't go very often, because of the whole gut rot factor, but I was being lazy and did not feel like cooking whatsoever. I walk in to find about thirty people standing in a large mob in front of the counter.

Now, first of all, do these people think that is how this process works? Lines, people, lines. I think to myself, It's a nice day. I'm sure there's some sort of lines in this mob, and stand at the back of a large, smelly man. Eventually two lines become apparent, and I find myself in the middle of one of them, which makes me quite content. Maybe I'll get my grease-trap faster than I thought!, thought a-couple-days-ago Jam.

When I'm near the front of the line, an elderly man to my right drops a drink off his tray. It splashes everywhere (luckily not on me) and kind of just stands there, quite disappointed with the cup or the tray or himself or Stephen Harper. I bend down, pick up the cup, and walk over to a garbage to throw it out. I figured since I was right there I should do something. I get back to line and the girl behind me, a blonde-dye-job-gone-wrong teenage girl had moved up into my spot. I was helping the old man, I thought, and you saw me, you crazy bitch. I come up next to her, somewhat in front of her, and stand there. Why should she be able to take my spot? Because I was helping an old man who dropped his drink? Right, I scoffed...in my head.

Now, something to note is that although there are two lines, there are four registers, so each line is in the middle-ground of two registers. Just so you can picture my McWorld.

When it's finally my turn, the girl says, to the entire world, "Can I help who's next?" The girl bolts around me and orders before she has stopped walking. Her gigantic-cap-wearing buddy follows along, and I am simply flabbergasted. I decide to just keep my ground, I'm next, I think, and I stay at the start of the line rather than tripping that blonde tramp to the ground with a Louisville slugger, Carrie Underwood style.

Before I know it, this guy who is VERY far back in the line decides that the blonde tramp has created a new line, and also decides that he is next in this line. He walks up and just stands there, and when she's done, he gets to order, because the girl behind the counter is about five and says "Can I help who's next" while looking up or down or through us all.

Meanwhile, while this is happening and I'm so ecstatic that it is, the other register is being held up by two women with knotted hair who have ordered eight full cows, and two of the biggest Diet Cokes I have ever seen. Apparently the girl keeps missing things in the order, but because they keep paying every minute-or-so to add something on like fries or extra grease, I'd assume it was not the server's fault. She seemed to be at least seven - kids grow up so fast these days.

Finally, the rude back-of-the-line man finishes and breezy (as the breeze is blowing right through her skull) says "Can I help who's next?" Without thinking, I decide that I'm not going to get there, that some horrible McPerson is going to jump up and claw out my face to get their McFood. Instead, I look back and the gorgeous, 20-something polo-wearing man behind me says "go ahead" and smiles. "Thanks" and holy GOD have my babies!

I order my meal and get out of McDonald's in about twenty-five minutes. I'm not sure what attracts the world's most horrible citizens there during dinnertime, but all I know is I will not be going back. Unless I wear a polo...

--Jam