Picking up a movie at my favorite Red Box location, which happens to be inside a McDonald’s not far from where I live, I decided to grab a cup of chocolate chip frappe´ to start a relaxing night. Standing in line of four people with me standing last, a Class-A douche with one of those curled moustache, inch-wide ties, and wearing a folded-leg $250 dark blue jeans, started acting agitated and making girly noises. The lady in front of the line did have a huge order, while the second in line took five minutes to figure out she stood in line for ten minutes not knowing what to order. When the douche finally got to the register, he was more than happy to express his displeasure at the young lady at the register, who must’ve been just fifteen years-old, and possibly on her first job. The young lady, visibly intimidated, started making obvious mistakes with the order, with curly mustache aiding in the chaos by raising his high-pitched voice saying he is already late for a meeting. The scene culminated with fancy-jean guy calling the kid incompetent and threatening to get her fired while the manager, watching the whole escalation, conveniently walks away “to check on some drive-thru orders.” Me and my inability to mind my own business when there is injustice going on, tapped douche guy on the shoulder and asked, “Dude, are you really trying to get this kid fired over your poor time management?” I stared at his blue eyes through his fake prescription “geek glasses” and contemplating punching a man wearing fake glasses, but settled to figuring out how long his moustache is, end to end, if pulled apart. Then I realized how much time this guy spent on the gym, as his torso contained more muscles than I have bones in my body, and realized he’ll tear me to shreds without knowing he tore me to shreds. He was about to say something out of anger, when a booming voice behind me echoed the same sentiment I just did. Me and douche boy saw a seven foot, follicle challenged man, whose biceps are bigger than his torso, standing behind me. Fancy pants left with his orders without noise. Muscle-bound and I mutually nodded with respect as I tried my hardest to appear macho, sipping my chocolate chip frappe´ as loudly as I can, on the way out the door. I really didn’t need "The Rock" look-a-like’s assistance because all I really wanted to tell skinny tie is, next time, use the Drive-Thru. Sigh. I really need to stay away from McDonalds!
Posted on: Mon, 05 Aug 2013 02:01:07 +0000
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