Reminds me of a godamn story godammit.
So I'm out from a wonderful day at work, dealing with some women from Honduras who forced me to do some things that un-right to the PSone they bought, and in a somewhat backwards way, called me a racist for removing live, expensive product from the cashwrap (the uninitiated will know this as the counter-jobbie with the registers and stuff on.), hug my wife, who had surprised me by coming to pick me up, and went on our way to the nearby Wendy's, as it was a long time since I had a salad, I wanted one, and they have salads there that act suspiciously like real food, with is odd for a fast food chain.
There, The Fun Begins.
In case you didn't know, they have three varieties- a chicken/bacon/ranch/stuff number, (my personal fave, salads are all about contrast, IMH, and this one has it in spades), a further example of America's stupefying assrape of Asian cuisine (also known as- it has chicken, almonds, abnormally small oranges, those little noodle thingies, and something that has vaguely to do with sesame seeds in it), and a taco salad. The Taco Salad, I believe, (capped because of its Significance In the Story) farther removed from its bizarre, double sex euphemism name as it really should (surprising for me, I know), is unsurprisingly tasty. This is mainly because it's got all of the basic ingredients of a good (read- not of the bell) taco, just in a different order, in a bowl. Num. So, we hop up in line (my mom, my wife, and I), and prepare to order.
I was lying, because Here The Fun Began.
I order a chicken/bacon/stuff they added just because you can't really put anything in a combination like that and have be out of place special, (two, one for me, one for the wifey), and the requisite fries and fizzy water beverages. Note, Im pretty sure that we didnt want them, but fast food places tend to make you want fries and soda. Come in just to use the bathroom, leave with fries and a coke, and hopefully, you actually didn't get them from the bathroom itself. Its a mystery of nature.
Getting back to the story, we decided to have backup salads planned in the event they were suddenly out of the lettuce with tasty stuff in. I opted for the taco salad; she planned for the mangled Chinese thing. I wept bitterly. We order, and this woman about four feet tall and three feet wide (seriously, she looked like she ate hobbits, or something) hears me say "chi-" and grunts "w-rout."
So I say alright, then the "me so solly, sucka sucka ding dong special, pl-"
"oudda-atoo."
"ok..."
At this point, I turn to my wife. She doesn't like the taco (and for that Im grateful every single day...oh, wait, I meant the salad... silly me), but she shrugged, and told me in a mildly defeated voice- "Its ok, I'll get the taco."
It's times like this when the whole logic part of my head shuts off.
"But you didn't want the taco one."
"Its ok, I'll have that."
"But..."
"S-okay already," she says.
It's this point when my mom goes to the other counter, and orders the chicken/stuff salad for my older sis, and the chickitey china, the chinese chicken for herself.
Ding, they appear. I mean, there was an actual "ding" and everything. Swear to God.
This is where "no logic in brain" turns to "burning with hatred and rage." Keep in mind that I was already stressed out from work. Hulk smash.
My extra large coke in hand, filled with freezing cold soda, I whip it as hard as I can at the oompa-loompa that is my cashier, soaking her to the bone with ice cold Coca-Cola Classic.
...In my head, of course. I guess there was some logic in my brain after all, since I didn't leap over the counter and tear the bitch's spookily saggy flesh from her bones with my bare hands. I instead turn to my mom, ask her to order a mandarin chicken salad (the first time in the whole of this rant that I have used the real name), and pay for my Taco salad and my "non-ballistic as much as I wanted to" drinks. The fries too.
As I do this, my mom receives her order, consisting of two drinks, two fries (told ya about the fry thing), and three salads.
Two of which being the type we wanted in the first place, and one being my wife's backup salad.
I have not gone back there since, and will not again.
...You know, unless I find a really good price on a flame-thrower. If you know someone, drop me a line.