an open letter to the fast food service workers and other rantings by a guy who is long in the tooth

It's one of those nights. I am overtired from sitting up until 1 a.m. reading my U2 book, and from the busy time at work, and the kids are overtired and grouchy and I was an absolute grouch tonight. But instead of going to bed, I am sitting here about to complain and sound like some old curmundgeon. But suck it up, it's how I roll.
Anyway, I know there are starving children and war and global warming and bullshit extrordinaire occuring every second of the day, so it sounds horrible for the trite bullshit I am going to complain about, but well, as I said, that's how I roll, so suck it up, buttercup.
I am thinking I must make this another one of my infamous open letters. Hey, Margo, just like an infamous Swan hottub party, hey? I can't use the word infamous because it reminds me of this friend Margo and I had, this sort of weird girl who was sort of a shut in, really, but every once in a while she'd come out and play, as it were, and entertain us in her parent's house, this big rambling place. They had a round jacuzzi tub which to hillbillies like us in the 80's was a hot tub, so whenever we'd be there drunk, we'd inevitably end up with 5 of us in our underwear in the tub. When my wife met this shut in, she made a reference to the "infamous Swan hot tub parties!" and as I said, when I explained what that was, it was really just 5 drunk people sitting in a bathtub and it sounded so hillbilly. Oh man, I remember when we'd get out, we'd sit in towels until our underwear dried in the dryer, and I think Margo has a picture of me doing some sexy towel pose on the shut-in's bed. Am I imagining this Margo? I also remember one time getting home and realizing Marcus and I got our underwear mixed up and I was wearing his, and to even remember that makes me want to go and soak my knackers in a vat of Javex. Let's just think happy thoughts, ok? So anyway, when I use the word "infamous" it's in jest, my pretties....
So, as I said, this will be an open letter, this time to the fast food industry workers.
Dear Workers,
I understand you may be in highschool, or just out of highschool, or crazy or ugly or troubled or what have you, and you are taking this job in the industry as a stepping stone to whatever the fuck it is you are meant to do. And that's fine, kudos to you, buddy and buddy-ettes. Rock on. I realize there may be a labor shortage for these sort of jobs right now and you all have the service industry by the knackers. Again, rock on my friends. But I need to tell you about some really annoying things that I've noticed in the past two weeks. We have had fast food three times in two weeks. Yes, three times. However, it's Christmas season, and I have three kids 5 and under, and I am tired, and my wife is tired, and my kids can whine, so it's none of your fucking business if I am shoving my face with trans fat from Breakfast Barney to the sign-off prayer (obscure Joni Mitchell reference for you).
So let me tell you about the first experience. It was 2 weeks ago, at Arby's. It's about 7 p.m., and I pull up with my kids, ready to shove their faces with curly fries. Arby's is never terribly busy and indeed, we are the only ones in the drive thru. So, tell me, why is it that you people forced me to move up to the end of the drive thru, by the back door of the restaurant? Nobody ever came from behind me. Is it because there is a timer and you will get in trouble for having the customer wait a bit? Well honey, I will personally write to your manager a permission letter asking that I don't have to move up and park by the dumpster, until you run my food out the back door like some sort of illicit drug deal. So that got me riled.
Imagine my anger when I got home and was ready to feed my poor starving kids, only to discover that my chicken strip adventure meal was missing, and thus my 3 year old had no food. So, I had to get in the car, drive all the way back, and tell the older woman I never got the meal, yada yada. THEN, she's really nice and gives me a regular meal, the three piece meal with a giant sized fries. That's really nice, but it was originally the kid's Adventure Meal - for my THREE YEAR OLD. She can't eat a large fry or three chicken strips. I certainly don't need it - have you seen me naked lately? So, really, instead of an adult meal, I just want quality control. None of this would have happened if I could have checked my meal in the drive thru light, rather than receiving my food by the dumpster and the oil recycling bin.
So, on to the next culprit. The other night, my darling sweet wife was really jonesing for a Wendy's salad. Wendy's is quite far from my house, on the other end of town, and the roads were a little icy from the melting and freezing going on with this damned global warming, but I must admit, I was feeling quite randy and was hoping my efforts in picking up the craved salad would produce results later in the evening in the boudoir, so I went to your fine establishment. I pulled into the parking lot and saw I was the only car in the drive thru and indeed, the only car in the parking lot. This led me to comment to myself something like "stupid buggers should never have built up here" because the logical place to build would have been by Arby's, in my part of town, but no, the owners thought they would catch all of the people driving to the lake on the main road, which may be true in summer, but in winter, well, joke's on you. So, I place the order, and read the screen, and pay, but I drive away and instinctively press the brake to check the bags. Well, you got it Sunshine, my dipping sauces for my kid's meals were missing, even though you specifically asked me what kind I wanted. Well, I dunno if you have ever seen a kid who doesn't get their dipping sauce, but it sure as hell ain't pretty, Peanut. So I am forced to go in, and flag down the attention of Gum-Chewing Girl to get my sauces. Fine. SO I get home and am ready to enjoy my large beverage, which I wanted so bad that I was forced to say "can you Biggie size that" which was just humiliation for me to say something so fucking stupid, and what happens? No straws. There were straws in the kids' meals, but not for me and the mrs. It totally took the fun out of drinking the drink. To top it off, the Mrs. was ovulating like a mofo that night, so in the event there was a birth control malfunction of any sort, I am holding you responsible since you sold me the salad of seduction, so I'll expect a garnishment of your wage for child support - no more Hubba-Bubba for you, my Pet!
Finally, the last incident was tonight. It was after Ballet, about 7 p.m. again. We again had no dinner planned, so we polled the kids, and they wanted McDonalds. I don't like McDonalds. I keep seeing that Supersize Me dude puking in the parking lot when I think about it. I wanted a sub, but got McDonalds just to be easy - easy like Sunday morning. WELL. We are served by you, Mary fucking Sunshine. I'm sorry, but you must have had us mistaken with the people who stole your dog and killed your grandma and forced you to get a job in the service industry when you really are more suited for working at, I dunno, swallowing pharmacuticals and spitting on the sidewalk. But you know, we made it through the experience and moved on to the window where you collect the food. It was right fast and I was glad. So we get home, and I am in a pissy mood, and discover, again, that my supersized filet of fish meal and my wife's whatever it was she ate, came with no straws. Neither did the Happy Meals. Well, Happy Meals my fucking arse, my friend, since I again have to suck back pop out of a cup, and the kids are spilling pop all over creation and back again. Strawless orders may be the way you all roll in nuggetville, but it's not how I roll, Dingus.
So please, dummy the fuck up, all of you. That's all I'm asking. Give me straws, give me dipping sauce, give me hitch-free salads for getting busy. It's all I want. Maybe I should try Burger King - they say they have it my way.
So that's the rant. Horrible person I am, aren't I, for complaining about something so trite? I am completely weirded out at the moment because I just saw a commercial for Nutri-system, with some dude who lost 77 lbs, and he said during the whole course of the thing that he was 38 and never felt better. Honey, I'm 37 in two months, and if 38 looks as old as this poor bugger, well, get me to the fucking botox clinic. Really, I can't wrap my head around this pushing 40 business - I so don't look it, so I guess it really freaks me out that these other people who actually look their age are looking so damn ancient. This dude and his wife were frollicking since he lost his weight and were implying that they were randy as rabbits (I bet even without a Salad to whet the carnal appetite!) since he's lost weight and it was like an image of your parent's doing it. Freaky-ass bullshit, this aging business, isn't it?
My other rant tonight was that I asked someone finally how to get a ringtone for my phone and they said just go to Much Music (I think it was Margo who told me, but I dunno, I'm too old to remember), so I did, but I really wanted Vertigo by U2 and they don't have it. SO what the fuck good is it - I don't want my phone ringing to Nelly Furtado or whatever. I'm pushing 37, I'm a little long in the tooth for that.
Anyway, that's the rant for tonight. I wish you all champaign dreams and cavier wishes.
xo
JT