Approximately five years ago, it was about one AM and I was getting a ride home. On the way,we decided to stop for various snack related purchases at a Valero. I got a yoohoo and some candy. Yoohoo is delicious. Don’t judge me, I’ll fight you over this. Anyway there is this bucket or jar or whatever it is they send out to collect money for Jerry’s Kids. Normally I don’t give money to charity because I’m a miserly asshole. This night was different because I felt bad. Someone defaced it with a pen, blacking out the kids teeth and giving them eyepatchs and I believe someone scribbled a phallic symbol on the jar. Classy. So I gave a dollar and went on with my purchase. So the guy is ringing me up and there is a really long line, me at the front, a drunk lady on her phone behind me, my two co-workers, and a few other grumpy people trying to drown their sorrows in cigarettes and lotto tickets. The lady is having an extremely loud conversation that i’m trying to ignore, but the debit card machine wasn’t working, so the goon calls his manager over and then the ladies conversation became much harder to ignore. “Who puts semen in someone’s drink? Oh my God I’m so disgusted I drank that! Who does that? Why would he put semen in my drink?” At this point the line erupts into laughter with the lady oblivious to the situation. I attempt to keep a straight face because I am closest to her and I don’t want her to yell at me for laughing at her and risk the chance of getting a waft of her semen breath. Meanwhile the manager and goon come to the conclusion, amidst her nonstop complaints about her beverage, that my card will not run and I had to pay the $5.84 in cash. I only had a five in my wallet. So I took back my dollar, and some guy from the back goes “How you going to steal from Jerry like that?”. I purchased my yoohoo and other treats and ran away from spermzilla and the judgement zone. And that is why to this day, I will not give to charity.
My name is Robert Pelaez. I am an associate manager in a fast food chain. I do not like my job. I do not like most customers. I don’t like cheeseburgers. I don’t like a lot of things about my job, but in particular, I don’t like idiots.
Let me tell you some of things idiots do that displease me.
There are two menu’s in most set ups for drive-thru’s. The location I work in has two. But I will guarantee you that nine times of out ten, when a person doesn’t know what they want, they will shoot past that first window and waste my time deciding whether or not they want the super combo, or the super duper combo? Meanwhile a nice long line is building around the building, trapped behind a car that decides to consider the caloric ramifications of getting a triple, marinading the impatient people in hatred, spite, and pure malevolence, which they are going to share with me.
Asking me what I like
You know what i’d like? For you to go fuck yourself. I don’t work here because I enjoy the culinary innovation made available to the public via fryers and grills, I work here because I need money and don’t have any better options. Don’t ask me what my favorite hot dog is because on a good day, the idea of eating the food I make every day makes me want to vomit.
Questioning the price
“I come by every single day and buy a large cup of ice for seventy cents! How can you justify robbing me every God damned day for solidified water?! You’re a disgusting excuse for a human being!”
I don’t know bitch, maybe it’s because you buy it every God damned day? Basic economic theory suggests that if you buy something at a high price consistantly, then a profit can be made there. If you don’t like the price, don’t buy it. At the very least get the fuck out of my face.
That’s all for today at any rate, perhaps I will share more of my acidic diatribe some other day.