�Hiiiii Pam.�

I admit it. I rage at drive-thrus. I�m not a general road rager, but get me in a drive-thru line behind some asshat who is clearly and blatantly disobeying the unwritten rules of drive-thru lines and I am ready to blow, y�all. It�s not even etiquette at this point. It�s far beyond that. There�s a code, people. Learn it. Use it. And for the love of God, MOVE your frigging road-hogging SUV ass up!!!

Sorry, sorry. I get a little worked up. Maybe I just have the bad fortune of finding myself behind the people who refuse to follow the guidelines. For one thing, tailgating is not only accepted in drive-thru lines, it is pretty mandatory. I can�t even count how many times I�ve been behind Inch-Up Ingrid, who only moves up a few feet after placing her order. The poor person working inside doesn�t know that I�m stuck in limbo land, halfway between the designated spot behind the person ordering and the speaker. I�m stuck looking at the beginning of the menu, trying to crane my neck out my car window to shout out my order because the poor person inside keeps asking, �May I take your order?� Because of Inch-Up Ingrid�s complete lack of brains, I�m being pegged as the jerk who is toying with the order-taker. I�m the jokester who sits there and makes them ask for my order repeatedly just for fun. I might as well just get on my cell phone at the same time and order a pizza that I never plan on picking up. I�m an order bastard. And it�s all Inch-Up Ingrid�s fault because I look ahead and there is at least the half-a-car-length I need to move up separating her from the car ahead. I want to scream out the window, �I�m trying to order, but this jackass in front of me is in La-La-Land and refuses to move. If you just hold on, I�m going to get out of my car for a second and go bitch-slap her. Oh, and hold the onions!�

Jiminy cricket.

Inch-Up Ingrid is closely related to Not-Paying-Damn-Attention Ned. NPDA Ned is the one who is fooling around with his stereo, or blabbing on his cell phone, or just plain off daydreaming. He�s a dawdler. He sits there like a moron while all kinds of people in front of him are moving and on their way, hot food in hand. NPDA Ned leaves 2 or 3 car lengths in front of him, and is normally supposed to be at the food pick-up window when he is actually back at pay window-land. I HATE Not-Paying-Damn-Attention Ned. He is keeping me from my beloved Whopper Jr. He incites angry fits of shouting, �MOOOOOOVE!!!� in my car that can only be attributed to hunger or insanity. I always hope for the hunger defense.

Then there is my favorite, Feeding-China Fifi. You know her. Sometimes she�s in a minivan full of moppets, but sometimes she is sneaky and shows up by herself. But she always has a list. And the list? She is LONG. You sit behind Feeding-China Fifi and wonder just what in tarnation is taking so long. Did they run out of chicken again? (That actually happened to me once. We waited at the window for fifteen minutes because they ran out of chicken. What fast food place runs out of food? Don�t they have those things cryogenically frozen? �We�re out of chicken, but we do have a nice fried Walt Disney toe sandwich on special.�) As you sit behind Feeding-China Fifi, your mind and body begin to turn on you. Your hunger multiplies itself by a google and suddenly you are salivating like a dog, dreaming about getting your grubby little mitts on some greasy goodness. Then your mind starts to wander again. �What�s taking so long? I just saw someone leave with food, so they�re not out of it. Maybe they�re being robbed. Oh, great. Now Hamburglar is going to carjack me and I�ll never get back to work on time. I wonder if he�s really as short as he looks? And what was Grimace exactly? What kind of creature is that? I hope he�s not involved in the robbery as Hamburglar�s right-hand man, because that would be hell on my shocks. Oh, wait � someone else just emerged from inside, so there�s no robbery. So what the hell is taking so long?� You look in your rear-view mirror and notice the line of cars that has formed behind you, snaking way back into the far recesses of the parking lot. You glance at the drivers� faces. You know that look. You know it because it�s on your face right now. I believe it�s called �Batshit.� Your rage finally bubbles to the surface when the pick-up window opens and you see the source of the hold-up. Bag after bag after bag after effing bag is passed to Feeding-China Fifi. Smoke comes out of your ears as you hate her and her family of 998 people for daring to eat. You then vow to go home and call your congressperson to suggest that there should be a law against how many items can be ordered at a drive-thru. It should be like the express lane at the supermarket. You want to feed China, Fifi? Take it inside. We drive-thruers have places to go, people to see.

Feed-China Fifi finally fills up her trough and moves along. You eagerly drive up and grab your food, stuffing it in your face as if you haven�t eaten in weeks. Then it hits you: extreme HATE for Feed-China Fifi. She is the worst of the worst, the lowest of the low � for now, your food is COLD. Feed-China Fifi? The anti-Christ.

That�s it, I�m calling Congress.

Co-Worker Fashion Faux Pas of the Day: This...I don�t even know how to describe it. This dress. It�s the bastion of ugliness. Crazy ugly flowers all over it, and made out of that hard cotton stuff. Top that off with big white buttons up the back and a white belt straight out of 1986. My eyes, MY EYES!!!!

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before & after





2007-09-26 - Follow Me!
2006-09-30 - Site Move & Favorite Entries
2006-09-25 - Evil Easter Bunnies & Rock Climbing!
2006-09-22 - Shameful-Purchase Hiding & A New Dentist Plan
2006-09-19 - Birthday Picture/Video Diary & The Wheelmobile





Copyright 2003-2006 by Sockgirlie. Stealing is wrong.