Peeves

First of all - no, the 'chick has not contracted Squirrel Flu or rabies. Roadchick's mother very kindly pointed out the fact that squirrels carry rabies when the 'chick told her about the Attack Of The Kamikaze Squirrel. Rabies, y'all. Who could tell the difference from her normal demeanor (as the story below will show)???

Can the 'chick vent?

(Y'all know she's going to anyway, so don't even bother answering.)

So, the 'chick is in the drive-thru line at McDonald's with two co-workers. It's her turn to yell her order into the clown's mouth and she informs the order-taker that there will be three orders.

Roadchick orders.

Co-worker #1 orders.

Co-worker #2 says: Hey, can you pull up a little bit so I can look at the menu?

Excuse the 'chick - McDonald's menu has remained basically the same since 1969. They sell HAMBURGERS. And FRIES. And COKE. If there is any weird, new-fangled shit to be had, there is a large, flapping white banner in the front yard of the store announcing

McRib is BACK

Which usually clues the consumer that, hey! McRib is back, should I wish to purchase some slimy, pressed pork patty goodness. Otherwise, there are HAMBURGERS and FRIES. Chicken or salad if you must be a rebel. But please. It's the same stuff as the last time you were there. Really.

So, Roadchick, being ever kind and patient and sweet and generous (yeah, right!) obligingly inches the car foward so Co-worker #2 can "see" the menu.

Co-worker #2: Hmmmmmm. Let's see....what do I want?

Co-worker #1: Order something. Now.

Roadchick: (rolling her eyes and counting to ten silently. Lather, rinse, repeat until calmness and nirvana occur.) (The 'chick is still counting and there is NO calmness and NO nirvana, unless you count the bootleg version of "Smells Like Teen Spirit" that is lurking on her hard drive.)

Co-worker #2: Now, on the chicken sandwich - what kind of bread is that? Can I get a different kind? What kind of sauce? What about barbeque sauce instead?

Co-worker #1: (taking deep, calming breaths, keeping an eye on the 'chick and one hand on the door handle for a quick escape if necessary.)

Roadchick: (calculating how old she will be when finally paroled from prison for the brutal murder of her co-worker.)

Co-worker #2: Ok, I think I'm ready. I want a cheeseburger with extra mustard....no, wait - make that extra pickles and the real onions like the ones that you put on the Quarter Pounder? Not the little dried up ones that come on the cheeseburger. And and order of fries - but make sure that they are fresh and have salt on them. And a large sweet tea with exactly three slices of lemon.

Co-worker #2: No, forget that, I changed my mind. I want the fish sandwich....(trailing off as the car roars forward before any orders can be changed)

Roadchick: (brightly, teeth gritted) Ok, hand over the money, everyone!

Co-worker #1: (dropping the money with exact change quickly into Roadchick's hand and snatching her hand back as though feeding alligators.)

Co-worker #2: Lord, y'all - I left my wallet under my desk at the office. I don't have any money.

Roadchick: (spluttering wordlessly)

Co-worker #1:(digging frantically in her bag for more money.)

Co-worker #2: Isn't that just the funniest thing. . .but you know, I really didn't want the cheeseburger, I wanted the fish instead or maybe a salad. . .

Roadchick: (calmly) Then perhaps it would be better if you figured out what you wanted before getting to McDonald's. The menu has not changed in 30 years, really.

Co-worker #1: (sitting silently in blind terror)

Co-worker #2: But I didn't want the cheeseburger....

Roadchick: Then the 'chick will drop you off after we collect your order and you can go inside and exchange it. But the car will not wait. The 'chick will leave your silly ass here and you can barter for a ride back to work with ketchup packets.

Needless to say, the cheeseburger was accepted and harmony restored. At least, Roadchick's harmony was restored.

For a minute, anyway.

Co-worker #2: Know what I'd really like? A Frosty, from Wendy's!

Co-worker #1: Ummm...

Roadchick: (cutting this train of thought off at the pass) Oh HELL no.

This is why there are very few days that the 'chick is asked to do the lunch run. The system works, y'all. The 'chick guarantees it.