Let me paint a picture for you.
I'm running late to go to a hair braiding party (shout out Rubi Jones) and I'm super hungry. I don't have much time, but when I walk out of the subway, I see my future on the horizon: McDonalds. The golden arches glimmer on the dim and somewhat dire neighbourhood corner. But it calls to me.
I walk in and it isn't super busy. I hear a couple of old Russian men gabbing on about what I can only assume is Mafia business. There is a man about my age in a red shirt standing in front of me, and a couple people on the other side of the counter, waiting for their numbers to be called.
One of these people is a man. Probably mid-50s, wearing a "My son wears combat boots" t-shirt tucked into khaki shorts and thick 70's style glasses. I'm going to call this man Roger.
Roger has a lot to say and is not caring about who is listening, or not listening. Some phrases he shouted aggressively include:
"McDonalds isn't what it used to be!"
"My sandwiches better not be cold!"
"I wouldn't be here if I hadn't fallen on hard times!
"I can't believe this terrible service...Hello lady...HELLOOOOO"
He shouts and shouts and shouts and the poor McDonalds workers mostly ignore Roger. Rightfully so. This little precious girl in probably her early 20's stands next to me in line and we go back and forth about how Roger needs to find a better use of time and how we were really impressed that the workers weren't yelling back.
It was about this same moment in time when almost everything that could go wrong does.
The girl behind the register is trying to replace the chocolate bag in the drink machine and while she goes to put it into this plastic holder, it springs a leak and starts going everywhere on the counter. The poor guy in a red shirt, who was standing closest to this situation, puts his hands down to create a human barrier to prevent the chocolate from streaming onto the customer side of the counter.
So here we have crazy cakes Roger yelling, a chocolate bag exploding over the counter, and a poor kid trying to hold back the river.
Meanwhile, Roger gets his burgers and immediately opens up the bag, takes one out, and claims "This isn't hot! I knew it wouldn't be hot! Can't get a hot burger around here!"
Another kid goes behind another register to take care of the line and red shirt feels confident enough to leave his station and go wash his hands. The girl next to me tells me she accidentally got an extra small fry and was just trying to pay for it and do the right thing. Precious little one.
So after some shuffling and reheating and yelling, Roger gets a new set of microwaved double cheeseburgers, red shirt guy doesn't get any discount on his food even though he provided some serious service, homegirl pays an unnecessary but moral $1.73 for a small fry she didn't even want, and I end up sitting next to the Russians and staring at a beautiful man with a random tattoo on his arm that said EGS (i was hoping it said LEGS but no L), eating some fries and drinking a Dr. Pepper instead of the Diet Coke I ordered.