I was in a fast food restaurant today. I am not proud of my behaviour, but I was hungover and working, never a clever combination and I needed some carbohydrates and transfats to carry me through the afternoon ahead. I have half an hour for lunch, the takeout joint is 30 seconds walk from my shop. Perfect.
I should have known when I read the sticker on the door that said "pull", but actually you had to push it...
No matter, I would persevere.
There are 5 people in front of me. It takes 20 minutes to serve them. I have no idea why. I think maybe I have wandered into a unique space where gravity is stronger here than on the rest of the planet.
In comes the local serial killer - turns out he works here. He has a name tattooed on his neck. Is it his, or somebody else's, I wonder..?
He works on a till, relief all around since the queue is out the door now. His first customer pays with a card. Our serial killer can't get the card into the card reader, the magic box of electricity seems to confuse him. Collective hearts are sinking.
It occurs to me that if I had driven the 20 yards from where I work into the drive-through, I would have been served in 2 minutes instead of 25...
I did receive my order - I had 5 minutes in which to eat it. I am so glad no one saw me as I hysterically stuffed my face in the canteen...I have a feeling it was deeply unattractive. I don't think I made any noises...
Of course, I can't tell you the name of the fast food restaurant. Suffice to say it rhymes with "KFB".
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