But I only ordered 4 things....why is it that when I get halfway home then I realize that my order has been completely fucked?

Good Morning Readers! Its 6 am and Im awake on my day off because Im currently functioning on the sleep cycle of a lemur. If you dont know what that means, its ok, neither do I. Grasping at straws over here. I dont think that makes sense either. Fuck. Whatever just get to the next paragraph already so as not to embarrass me further.

Yesterday morning one of my coworkers came in with a bag from Burger King. He had thoughtfully purchased me a sausage mcmuffin because, as he put it, "I knew my fat little Italian friend would love some BK in the morning" He was correct. I did. As he sat down and opened the bag, I was witness to the exact moment in time when he realized that his order had indeed been fucked up. He proceeded to go into a rage, which I can relate to completely.

For some odd reason, I have severe food anxiety. Basically, I get super freaked out if the food Im about to eat is messed with in any way that is not through any fault of my own. For example: If Im at any type of buffet, and not first in line, as I watch plate after plate walk away with more food on it then necessary, I slowly begin to panic as I become more and more certain that Im going to be stuck eating gay rice pilaf again. A typical conversation that either goes on in my head, or is spoken aloud to whatever unfortunate soul happens to be standing next to me: "Shit, they are totally going to run out. No seriously, it looks like the mashed potatoes are already 3/4 of the way gone. And the dude in the hat cutting the roast beef is totally giving guys bigger slices than girls. WTF. I want a big slice of roast beef too. Hey could you ask for two, and then give me one of yours, so I can get a big slice too? That would be great, thanks. Shit. The dessert table only has lemon squares left on it. God damn it I knew I should have just run over there before we got in line and grabbed one of the good ones. Fuck. Shit. This wedding blows." This is literally what goes on in my head. Im not kidding. It sucks to be crazy.

So one can imagine, that when I patron a fast food drive thru and my order gets messed up, I tend to freak the F out. *Side Note* One thing you need to understand, as angry as I am, Im actually too nice of a person to flip out at someone for real unless they are attacking my grandma or kicking my dog. That being said, I generally scream at myself in my car, as I make a u-turn only blocks from my house, and proceed to drive the 7 miles back to Wendys to get the 20 spicy chicken nuggets I originally ordered--oh look it even says that on the little ticket taped to the bag-- in exchange for the 20 original chicken nuggets that are currently residing in my bag.

This is what I dont understand:

1) How difficult is it to get a fast food order correct when Im the only one in the drive thru line, and I can see through the window that the only other person in the restaurant is a 98 year old man who has probably been eating that same bowl of chili for 3 hours. Its not busy fast food workers!! There is nothing that should be stressing you out right now!! Im the only fricken person ordering!! What the hell?

2) Alright, so you messed up my order. After going through the 5 stages of grief on the drive back to your restaurant, Im now coming in to tell you my order was messed up, and asking you to please give me what I ordered and thought I was paying for to begin with. If I worked in fast food, and someone approached me with a mistake on our part, I would apologize profusely, give them what they actually ordered, let them keep what we fucked up at no extra charge, and apologize profusely again. That experience has never happened to me. After politely explaining why I am now in the restaurant after you watched me drive away in my car 15 minutes prior, Im usually given a crusty look and a sigh as the fast food employee takes my bag and begrudgingly goes to fetch me my correct food. Oh, Im sorry, am I bothering you? Is my presence here somehow taking away from some other more important duty, like your 15 minute smoke break behind the dumpster? How about you fucking pay attention next time you are slanging fries and ranch sauce into a brown paper bag. This isnt rocket science. Also, you smile at me damn it. Im smiling at you, even though I really want to strangle you for making me wait 20 extra minutes to eat this crap. Im sorry if you hate your job. Lots of people do. You fricken make the best of it if you ever want to work somewhere else someday.

Thats what I would say if I wasnt afraid that my outburst would cause the worker to cut themselves in the storage closet after I left. Instead I grab my new bag, and slowly leave the restaurant, sans $5.75, and what was left of my faith in humanity.