I woke up to a grungy morning, inside a grungy little mind. Today, the snooze button was getting a little too much action. Pretty soon, I have to be off to hell I mean work. Any day I work, I bike one and a half miles one way... Which is pretty measly, but hey when it comes down to it I guess everything counts :)
I'm sipping on some blueberry tea, which (I'm not going to lie) I'm cringing at every sip of. Bleh.
But hey, I've done worse things for the sake of smaller causes.. *shudders* But that's a different story.
Outside, the sun's shining. But just an hour ago, The Boyfriend got in a car accident. I fucking freaked out... Apparently he was on a dirt road, going around a bend, and his tires slid out from behind him. He's telling me all this, and I'm borderline fucking panic attack. But to be honest, I'm just glad he's okay.
The scale says 124.0 this morning. Whatever, I take small blessings.
But it's time for a ranty-rant about my work. OHMYFUCKINGGOD. I hate working at McDonalds. It embodies everysinglefuckingdamnthing I am fighting against in this world.... Oh the fat people. Let me tell you.
I bet if my internal dialogue was ever voiced, I would be fired on the spot.
Here's a little excerpt:
(Enter: Pudgy, balding man in his thirties with a waist band the circumference of Neptune, hand in hand with his online fat fetish girlfriend, hands on her hips displaying her inner diva, which apparently needs to be fed enough to sustain several small African villages)
Me: "Hi, welcome to Mcdonald's! May I help you?"
What i'm really saying: "Not you fat-fucks again."
African Village: "I want.....
"Two of everything?"
African Village: "A double quarter pounder with cheese meal, and a large Coke."
Me: "What size meal?" *already hit the Large button, along with the DIET coke button*
Neptune jumps in: "They're both large meals, including mine."
Neptune: "I want a Big Mac meal, and I said that was large, but instead of the soda I want a large chocolate shake with extra whip cream. Oh, and on the Big Mac, I want extra mayonnaise. I want two fried apple pies, two hot fudge sundaes with extra hot fudge," Thinks to himself..., "And then a side salad."
Oh. Salad. Nice Touch.
Me: "What dressing would you like?"
I name all the dressings, all of which have "low-fat" in front of the name, to which he makes a face like I just shoved molded donkey shit in his face (too bad he'd probably eat that too), except for ranch.
He takes two pouches.
With the biggest, realest smile on my face, I hand them their food.
I look at the clock... and I'm only ten minutes into an eight hour shift.
Anyway, that's the end of that rant. I'm going to have to go head off to work on my eeny meeny barbie bike now... You guys all have a beautiful day :)