Sunday, 1 February 2015

Second Sauce


All I wanted was some fucking french fries, dipping sauce and napkins.


I could tell by the girl taking my order, that that probably wasn’t going to happen as swiftly as I’d hoped. How she managed to serve me, make herself a custom smoothie, and ask her manager twice if she could go on break...was beyond me. 

Oh wait. 
No it’s wasn’t “beyond me.”

I know exactly what happened and how the entire shit-tacular experience could have been avoided. If the chick taking my order was actually listening to me as I placed it, as opposed to multi-tasking, I wouldn’t have ended up walking home in the freezing cold crying hysterically, while yelling at God for making stupid people. 

Large fries. 
Two sweet and sour dipping sauces. 
Napkins. 

I waited patiently for those things as they were being made. I’ve been known to have episodes at fast food places. People that hate their job and make you feel like you’re bothering them, are a huge trigger for me. 

I could tell by the amount of attention I received from the girl, or lack there of... I was the only thing in the way of her precious frappe and smoke break.

I wasn’t pissed yet. I understood. I was her age once before and my head also dwelled in the depths of my ass. It was cool, that wasn’t the issue. 

I waited eleven minutes till somebody realized my order was forgotten. Which boggled my fucking mind, because I was only one of two customers in the whole place, and all I bought were fries. I could feel the eyes of my bi-polar dragon begin to flutter open. Even the mere scent of idiocy can awaken it from its dormant slumber. 


“Ya know, I’m a really nice person and I was really nice to that girl, and she was a douche to me but that’s ok, cause whatever, but now she’s gone and she didn’t even make sure my order was taken care of before she took off with her fucking weird milk shake! How’s that ok? And the last time I came here they forgot to put salt on the fries and when I told them, they handed me salt packets! Then they got annoyed that I was all like “No! I deserve fresh fries made to your company’s standard.” 
Fuck you, I’m not going to let you make me seem petty. In my eyes, money’s tight, and what's just french fries to you people, is a special fucking treat to some! This is unjust. And everyone in this fucking place is mean and miserable, and that’s not fair, because I’m not the reason you work a job you hate, so don’t treat me like I’m your problem when all I want is some fucking french fries, dipping sauce and napkins. FUCK!

While that was all going on in my head, I was trying to look as patient as possible and as least likely to be someone who hears voices. (My face seams to think that means look tense.)

By the time the manager handed me my fries and mumbled an apology for the wait, it was too late. My blood was already boiling at the sight of french fries and napkins with no dipping sauce.


“Are you fuuucking kidding me!?” said my dragon.

One of my major pet peeves with my bi polar is that sometimes when I think I’ve said something out loud, it was actually only said in my head, and vise versa. So although my argument was completely "understandable"... it still only happened in my head.

“This is ridiculous! This place needs some consistency!” Is what I said to the manager, when she told me that if I wanted dipping sauce, I’d have to pay extra. She definitely sensed my “give me the dipping sauce for FREE and we all can leave here alive” vibe, after she gave me the news.

“Your zombie teenage “ugh fuck my life, I need my break” frappachino drone, was supposed to have charged me for the sauces when I placed my order with her. But that didn’t happen because she began her break...the minute she rolled out of bed this morning! There’s eight fucking people working here. Explain to me why no one knew I ordered fries! And since when in the fuck does anyone charge for dipping sauce?! I was here two fucking days ago! Dipping sauce was free!” I shouted internally.

“Since when does anyone charge for dipping sauce? I was here two days ago. Dipping sauce was free.” I said externally.

“It’s a new rule we started yesterday ma'am. But only this once, we won’t charge you. ok?” She said annoyed as she handed me ONE free dipping sauce. 

Large fries. 
Two sweet and sour dipping sauces. 
Napkins. 

When I told her TWO sauces”... she looked at me like I was the one fucking with her!

I didn’t need the second sauce, but It was principle.
I knew the minute I left that place I was going to have an episode. I have waaaay more control over my illness these days but I still knew I wasn’t in the clear. FuckDonalds had gone above and beyond for my nerves that day, and after all that and for what was to come next...I wasn’t leaving there without that second sauce.

The manager slammed the second sauce on the counter.
Then me, my bipolar dragon and my french fries spazzed off into the sunset, lecturing God the whole way home. 


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