collect the moments one by one
Oct. 26th, 2007 02:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mcityAlright, so I have to go to the bank. Daddy drops me off on his way to church(He's a pastor). I hope I filled out the Express Deposit slip right, withdraw some ducats, and walk along the street to the COB bookstore. I pick up a copy of The Story of Ember, walk to the bus stop, and have my ears assaulted all the way home. The bus stop is right across the street from a Burger King.
You know where this is going.
So I order a Whopper Junior w/Cheese medium value meal. And then proceed to wait for ten minutes.
To put this in perspective; I was number 77. The number called after I made my order was 72. The last one I heard was 85. Mine was never called, but the nice young lady at the counter did eventually figure out this aristocratic-looking young man standing at the counter hadn't been served yet. As near as I could figure, the woman who makes the fries had put my sandwich in the queue, but it had never been bought to the counter and the number called. I don't know how, because I had been looking at it and thinking "That can't be mine. They wouldn't be that stupid. They can't."
When I got home, it turned out that the sandwich, naturally, was cold.
This is actually a semi-regular occurrence. Whenever I used to go to McD's, whatever line I chose would be the slowest. Whatever line I switched to would immediately become the slowest, and then the line I had just left would start movin' like a freight train. Just another one of the minor misfortunes that plague my life.
The really galling part? I don't have a time to draw a picture of a farting monkey before I go to work.
You know where this is going.
So I order a Whopper Junior w/Cheese medium value meal. And then proceed to wait for ten minutes.
To put this in perspective; I was number 77. The number called after I made my order was 72. The last one I heard was 85. Mine was never called, but the nice young lady at the counter did eventually figure out this aristocratic-looking young man standing at the counter hadn't been served yet. As near as I could figure, the woman who makes the fries had put my sandwich in the queue, but it had never been bought to the counter and the number called. I don't know how, because I had been looking at it and thinking "That can't be mine. They wouldn't be that stupid. They can't."
When I got home, it turned out that the sandwich, naturally, was cold.
This is actually a semi-regular occurrence. Whenever I used to go to McD's, whatever line I chose would be the slowest. Whatever line I switched to would immediately become the slowest, and then the line I had just left would start movin' like a freight train. Just another one of the minor misfortunes that plague my life.
The really galling part? I don't have a time to draw a picture of a farting monkey before I go to work.
