Taco Bell fucked up my order again.

I went in there the other day to grab some lunch, and was greeted by a less than enthusiastic employee. Actually, "greeted" probably isn't the right word. It's more like he glanced at me when I walked in, then heaved an audible sigh, clearly annoyed by my presence and my very existence.

So I politely placed my order, making sure to mention that I wanted my taco supremes without tomatoes. He never said a word, or even made eye contact with me. He just took my money and glumly set about making my food, although it was very apparent that he'd much rather knock my teeth out with a rusty crowbar. Meanwhile, I'm just standing there, grinning like a retard.

Upon getting home, I was in for a revolting discovery. My tacos were CRAWLING with tomatoes. Not just a few, mind you--it's almost like he put extra ones on there, just for the sole purpose of being a dick. And I fucking hate tomatoes. They bring back traumatic memories of my childhood, when my mother was constantly trying to get me to eat them. She'd pluck a huge tomato out of the fridge, slice it up and cover it with salt and pepper. Then, she'd (*shudder*) eat the damn thing. This was truly disgusting to me, and I'd practically be dry heaving at the sight of her stuffing her face with that shit.

" MMMMMM, these are DELICIOUS!" she'd rave. "Here, Jer, do you want some?"

"No, mom, I hate tomatoes." (This is a sentence I repeated at least a million times while I was growing up.)

This never discouraged her, though. "Go on, try some! I grew them myself, in the backyard!"

I couldn't believe she'd try to use that fact as an endorsement. "Hey mom, the DOG SHITS IN THE BACKYARD," I'd helpfully point out. Then I'd make a quick retreat, before she'd pull out some cauliflower and harass me with that, too.

One of the greatest things about being an adult is that nobody tries to force me to eat things I don't want to eat. And I wasn't about to eat tomatoes on my tacos, either. I simply scraped them off, trying not to retch in the process. I may hate tomatoes, but I love junk food.

Now, I'm sure that a lot of you would have pitched a bitch if a fast food place fucked up your order. You would have stormed back up there and demanded to speak to the manager, ranting and raving about the poor service, rude employees, etc. And then you'd stand there with your arms folded, expecting to have you ass kissed--despite the fact that the people working there make absolutely no money and couldn't give two shits about whether you ever come back or not. Truth be told, they would prefer that you don't. Why? Because you're an asshole, that's why. And while we're at it, that high school kid you're talking down to is probably a hell of a lot smarter than you are. But you're too stupid to realize this. You're too busy whining and bitching--saying things like "I've been waiting for five minutes... I thought this was supposed to be 'fast' food." This statement truly humbles the employees, because it's dripping with a sarcastic irony that only your keen mind can muster. Yes sir, Mr. Customer, you are the only person in history to make that witty observation.

It never ceases to amaze me how people will treat fast food workers like shit. I guess it doesn't occur to them that these same workers are making your food in an area where YOU CAN'T SEE WHAT THEY'RE DOING. I hate to be the one to break this to you, but if you're one of the dickheads I described in the paragraph above, you've probably unknowingly consumed GALLONS of saliva, semen, piss and a host of other "secret ingredients" in your miserable lifetime. All things considered, it makes tomatoes sound downright tasty by comparison. So, you really should remember that while you're driving home with your food, smugly thinking to yourself "I really taught those morons a lesson." Sure you did, champ. Oh, and pay no attention to those strange objects floating in your soda...

I bring these things up for several reasons. First of all, I worked a fast food job for several months when I was a teenager. Looking back now, I'd describe the experience like this--it was every bit as fun as repeatedly slamming my nutsack in a car door. I was only able to tolerate that job for a very short time--before too long, I began having violent fantasies about shoving people's heads into the deep fryer and laughing like a maniac while their families screamed in horror.

This is why I'm the ideal customer. It takes quite a bit to get me pissed off, and if I do have a complaint I'm as polite as a motherfucker. I never condescend, I never raise my voice and I never make a scene. You might think this makes me a wuss, but I'll tell you this much... I've probably consumed a lot less foreign body fluids than you have.

Enjoy your meal, asshole.

-JTL

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