Tuesday, March 16, 2010

McDonald's In Detroit

"Gimme all the money in the drawer, motherfucker!"
The counter help behind the six inch plexiglas shrugs.
"I said give me all the money in the drawer or I'll blow your fuckin' head off."
"Really?" asks the teen in the paper hat.
"Whatchoo mean really? I said give me the money."
"I know what you said. I'm just not particularly motivated to do it. Besides, there are people behind you, sir. They look hungry."
"Fuck hongry. Empty out that cash drawer or I will blow your damn head off."
"Sir, if you could just please step to one side if you're not ordering anything. I need to get these people taken care of or the manager might become very upset."
"I ain't stepping aside for nobody."
At this, the patrons in line voice their displeasure.
"You asswipe, my daughter wants a strawberry shake."
"I only have a half hour for lunch and I need my Asian Chicken Salad."
"Hey, idiot, you're wasting our time."
"If you don't move it I will fold my Filet O Fish in half and shove it up your ass."
The man with the gun turned to the people behind him. "I done told the man to give me all the money. It's not my fault he's being so slow about it."
"Sir, please, if you're not placing an order could you just please step to one side so that others might enjoy our line of reasonably priced products? "
"Yeah," a man growls, "I want a number one value meal sometime today."
"Sir, I will place your order when you arrive at the counter but there are still two people, not counting this guy with the gun, ahead of you."
"Sorry," the man says.
"Gimme my cash!"
"No sir. It is not your cash. It belongs to the McDonald's corporation; a very, very, very small, teency-tiny portion of which is going to the Ronald McDonald House, an organization for parents who have children with cancer."
"Awww. That's sad. No, wait, I mean, gimme that money, mofo."
"Excuse me," a woman says, "Do you think I could have three of those yogurt parfaits? I know you think that no one noticed you cut them down to a third of the size they used to be, but some of us have eyes, you know."
"Yeah," says a man. "Chicken McNuggets used to be huge but now they're practically the size of a dime."
Celebrity talk show host David Letterman is also in line and says, sarcastically, "Really. If there was a part of of a chicken you could conceivably call a nugget, would you want to put it in your mouth?"
Everyone laughs.
"Shut up!" the man with the gun yells. "All of you."
"Top ten reasons I can't get my fucking lunch," Letterman says, and everyone laughs again.
"So how are you liking Detroit?" the kid behind the counter asks the TV star.
"Shut up! I have a goddamn gun!"
"It's ok," answers Letterman, rolling his eyes. "Mostly."
"Are you going to give me the money or not?"
"I'm going to have to check with my manager on this." The kid disappears, which causes the line of people to audibly sigh and pointedly check thier wristwatches. "Hey," the man with the gun says, "I just figured he would hand it over and I'd be gone. I'm in the same boat as you."
The boy in the paper hat returns, accompanied by a man sans similar chapeau and wearing a necktie, which in the McDonald's world means an ass that needs to be licked, pretty much constantly. "What seems to be the problem here?" the manager asks.
"Gimme all the money in your goddamned cash register. Do it or I will shoot you in the face!"
"Is that David Letterman?" the manager asks.
"Yeah," says the kid in the paper hat. "He's just as funny in real life as he is on the TV."
"Hey!" yells the man with the gun.
"I hear he and that Paul Schaeffer don't really get along."
"Hey!" the man cries again.
"You know Letterman got one of those baboon hearts, like Baby Whatsername. Those rich shits get anything they want. My mom, she died, but if she had her own talk show she'd still be kicking."
The man who was causing all the trouble rapped on the plexiglas with the butt of his gun.
"You have three seconds to give me the cash before I open fire."
"Hi David! I'm the manager here!"
Blam! Blam! Blam! Blam! Three of the four shots fired bounced off the plexiglass, the one remaining stuck barely a sixteenth of an inch into it so that a slight breeze might jar it loose and cause it to fall onto the floor next to the others.
"Excuse me," the manager said, "can you scoop those up and throw them away?"
"Or recycle," said the kid in the paper hat.
"We have a lot of elderly customers. Never mind the fact that the loud noises might have sparked a stroke or something, but could you pick up your spent shells so they don't trip on them. Someone could break a hip."
"I gots a pistol. Bullets, not shells."
"Just the same. Would you mind?"
"Ok. I'll pick 'em up."
" Thanks. Now do you want anything?"
"All the money in the drawer."
"Fine. A diet Pepsi."
"Sir, we only have Coke products."
"Ok, a diet Coke then."
"What size?"
"For here?"
"To go."
"That'll be a dollar ten."

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