Wednesday, August 8, 2007

Fast Food Shenanigans, pt. 2

This is for everyone who has had to see it; you know who you are:

Greyskull's Skirt

Greyskull's leather skirt
like the trolls of the darkness
will scar me for life

More Burger King Madness

So among the stranger customers we used to have were the Whopper Junior lady, Duckman and Goldberg. I take you on jouney of knowing, you find more. Jinqui (I love Borat).

Whopper Junior Lady: This was an older woman, maybe 60-65, who would either drive through in her beat up Dodge Shelby and get out of her car in order to scavenge change from under the drive through window (completely oblivious to how long the line behind her was), or come into the lobby in order to literally blow her catshit smelling breath directly into the front line cashier's face. She always ordered the same thing, a Whopper Junior, because it was 99 cents I assume. The drive through visits, though annoying, were nothing to the in lobby visits.

If she came through the drive through and you just gave her the sandwich she would go off on you until you gave her the sandwich in a bag with a receipt (so she could file it under "w" for "Whopper Junior" in her crazy-lady filing cabinet at home, presumably filled with dead cats, mummified road kill and buttons to all sorts of things she never intends to purchase), napkins and ketchup. I mean who does that? She's making a meal out of a tiny ass burger that more often than not had been sitting under the heat lamp for 20 minutes before being given to her!

If she decided to come in, she would come up to the front counter, sometimes cutting in front of other people, and spend at least 5 minutes looking at the menu, when we all knew what she wanted and usually started making as soon as we saw her come in... and heaven forbid you should try to hurry her along or ask if she wanted a Whopper Jr. This would cause her to literally, through somewhat pursed old lady spittle-infested lips, to blow her breath into your nostrils, causing your eyes to water and your bowels to attempt to empty onto the floor. It smelled like cat shit dipped in rotten milk and then left out in the sun for a week. She would then, while waiting for her burger if the guy was new or if the cook hated you and wanted to see you suffer and thusly did not start on the food right away, tell you about things that were going on in her life, which some of the more sensitive (aka homo) employees would listen to but I would walk away and go stand in the back until the burger was done.

Duckman: Duckman was one of those funnier regular customers who you would think could probably function well enough in normal life but soon found out there was something not quite there with this guy. He had kind of a military haircut, a police officer's mustache (and no that's not stereotypical, you know the second I said that the mustache popped into mind) and always wore a hawaiian shirt and shorts (usually well into the winter).

He would order a double cheeseburger with no cheese (now that I think of it making him a perfect match for Whopper Jr. Lady, though the thought of them sexing it up, 2 old people's bodies making splorching sounds like trying to make hand farts in a vat of old mayonnaise, getting it all in your mouth....ugh), but the way he ordered it was what made this guy special. I wish I had a video to show you but I will try to explain: He would stand there, and as soon as you said "May I take your order?" he would close his eyes, scrunch his face up like he was taking a shit, open his eyes so wide you assumed he was gonna barf or that he had been punched in the balls, and make kind of a clicking noise with his mouth and sigh loudly, like that smacking sound you make when you eat with your mouth open. The funny thing is I saw him at like Taco Bell and McDonald's and he was completely normal. With his very pronounced Adam's apple he looked kind of like Duckman, the old USA cartoon series, thus the name.

Goldberg: Goldberg was awesome, and we would wait in the atrium for him most days. I think he had epilepsy (which is the subject of my next Iceman post) or something because he would be kind of like practicing Karate moves the whole walk up North Oak to the restaurant. He looked exactly like Goldberg the wrestler, and always wore a full denim outfit. He looked like he was cursing the whole time too, but we waited outside once and though his face was all red and his mouth was moving he never made a sound. It was funny because he would karate walk up to the register and then like completely change into this gentile guy who would order something and be all smiling and stuff, walk normal while he was inside and then start going crazy as soon as he got outside, like he was working off some pent-up rage issues and was only able to harness the awesome power of his anger for a few minutes at a time. Since we had a manager who looked exactly like Sgt. Slaughter, I sometimes fantasized about them meeting in the Octagon or something, which would have made my day.

Tomorrow: The Iceman returns

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