Oops

Tonight I did something I have wanted to do since I was 11 years old. I slapped the guy at the cash register at McDonalds. That's right. I reached my hand out, tightened it up, and prepared the best tennis forehand I could, and smacked that little punk so hard he slipped on the greasy floor, fell on his ass, and started making little baby tears starting before he made it all the way to the ground.

I didn't say a word after that. I just walked out with half the restaurant ready to call 911 and the other half secretly applauding me.

I suppose before you can judge which side you were on, you should hear the setup. I should start by saying that I am somewhat of a picky eater. I despise tomato products, like ketchup, more than a normal person probably should. Once, when I was quite bored I actually moved all of the ketchup in a local grocery store behind the pickles, where it would be safe. 176 bottles to be exact.

At any rate, on this particular evening, and as with many evenings before, I had ordered my sandwhich - a simple cheeseburger with no ketchup, and the delightfully attentive and caring staff at McDonalds had managed to get it wrong. Somehow they managed to translate that into "Please put as much ketchup as you can on this."

When I opened the sandwhich and found my gooey fruit paste surprise, I was immediately repelled. Like any normal person I gave that "ewwww" face, and tried not to look to dissappointed. It never works though. It seems like it always happens to me and I ultimately degrade to a childish level of dissappointment and face making. You'd think that after the number of times it has happened I would have come to expect it.

I approached the ordering area again, bag in hand, and I received what I have come to know as the "this jerk ordered wrong" look. That is the look where the underaged, overinflated manager believes every person that works her staff is perfect, and the customer is always wrong. An attitude she will most likely carry with her as she moves from this job to the job at the thrift store because she is so much older than her coworkers.

I approach the cashier, who carries the same look, obviously a learned behaviour from his superb manager. After finally reaching him, a blurted "What?!" falls out of his mouth as if to say "How dare you approach my podium like cash register!"

I, being the typically fearful customer, meekly say "Um, you guys put ketchup on this, and it is supposed to be without." I don't say fearful because I am shy or bashful, or afraid to ask for what I want, no it is the fear of what will happen to my freshly made burger? Will it have the "secret saliva sauce" added to it?

That's when I see it. He grabs my burger, roughly, as if to say "I'll fix it but I don't have to, because it's your mistake."

He looks toward the kitchen, lips something, and then makes lip pursing, kind of how you would if you were about to spit. Maybe it was the signal, maybe it wasn't, but after years of pent up rage of getting food at the drive thru only to find it is wrong 10 miles away, I snapped.

I looked at him and I said "What was that?"

"What was what dude?" he said in a casual voice, half stoned and half retarded from social standards.

"That look. That spitting motion."

"Whatever dude."

That was it. I'm the customer. Don't you dare "whatever dude" me. I'm pissed, and even though you don't particularly deserve it this time - I realize this is something of an Emperor's New Groove mid-story twist, but so what - I want to reach across the desk and ring your neck.

So as he sits there with his half cocked smile, not even bothering to help the next person in line, looking pleased that he has managed to tell me off in has space cadet teenager way...it happens.

I reach out, hand taught, and connect. I don't run, I don't even walk briskly. I stay a moment, to savor the feeling, taking in the gasps and random cacophony of "dude" and "oh my god."

I don't even mind adding a place to the slowly growing places I am no longer welcome. I suppose that will make him think next time he takes an order, or fixes one. Let it be known that sometimes the customer is right, and if you won't let them be, they will smack your ass down.