I’m generally a nice guy. I love holding doors open for people and speaking to another person when necessary. I think those two things are the staples of what I’d like to call ‘common courtesy’. I believe in keeping eye contact in conversations and appearing to be intently compelled to listen to another person’s words.
What I do not like is when a person does not say ‘thank you’ or ‘thanks’ or show any kind of gratitude when you hold a door open for them. It pisses me off to no end, and I always comment, “Your welcome!” extra loud, in my testosterone-infused deep voice. You might call me a gratuitous asshole who enjoys showing his bad side, but I’d like to call myself a merciful, just individual trying to restore manners and to teach these leaches who are rude a little somethin’ somethin’ about the phrase “thank you”.
I’ve written post upon post about nutrition lately, and that’s cool, but what I’ve done each of the last three days is what I like to call “carb up”. These “carb ups” aren’t really necessary, but they are what I call “nutritional affairs” as I usually do this for a few days and then I go back to my regular eating.
After barely eating any carbs over the past few months, I had a pizza on Friday night. Cool. This is where the story finally gets interesting. Yesterday and today I was craving Burger King’s A1 Steakhouse burgers. Awesome, right? I wanted the A1 Steakhouse XT burger, no tomato, with onion rings instead of fries.
Yesterday, they didn’t put any cheese on the burger, none of the crispy onions that are supposed to accompany the A1 Steakhouse XT, minimal lettuce and barely any mayonnaise. So Troy was left with a burger that basically had A1 sauce.
Mr. Sparks paid $7 for this desolate monstrosity that he could have spent on something more valuable. He ate the burger and did not complain…much. He entertained thoughts of calling them on the phone and being a complete jerk to the manager, vociferating complaints over how the person needs to get their insolent team employees together to efficiently rectify one’s order.
Didn’t call, but I entertained the thought.
Today I had not eaten anything and I was yet again craving an A1 Steakhouse XT from Burger King. So I drove there and ordered the same exact thing. So far so good.
Upon receiving the bag from the high school girl with the zit-plagued face, I drove around the building and parked at a space in the parking lot. I looked at the side of the bag and saw “Stuffed XT” and let out a loud, sarcastic laugh that rocked the whole world.
“Fuck,” I exhaled, as I opened the burger that was surrounded by paper. It was the stuffed burger that Burger King has been advertising like crazy which features the jalapeno peppers and cheddar cheese embroiled inside the charbroiled meat.
I took off my sunglasses, exited my vehicle and headed inside with the bag, ready to flip the “on” switch to Asshole Mode.
On my way inside, this dumbshit high school guy who looked like he needed some fucking Proactiv Solution and a start-up guide to The South Beach Diet bertstared me in typical teenage angst fashion.
“Hello, may I speak to your manager?”
“Yeahhh..” he mumbled like a carefree dumbshit who obviously deserves my scorn like a champ.
He called for the manager and the manager came around the corner and bertstared me for a second before applying a pseudo jolly Mr. Rogers happy face. He looked like he had been having a rough day, but because I had already flipped the “on” switch to Asshole mode, I didn’t give a fuck.
“What seems to be the problem?” he inquired.
“Let me ask you something. As a manager do you believe in running a tight ship? Before you answer that, let me explain. Today and yesterday my orders were screwed up. Today, I would like my money back, not a replacement.”
“OK, sir, we can do that, but how was your order wrong?” he inquired yet again.
“Wait, wait, wait… I asked you if you believed in running a tight ship.”
“Yes sir, we value the customers and do everything we can to make sure that everyone is satisfied.”
“So when someone orders an A1 Steakhouse XT burger, it’s customary to fuck the order up? Now, I know that everybody in this town seems to be drug-addicted half the time and blown out of their heads, and that high schoolers are high schoolers and they don’t give a rat’s ass about anybody but themselves because they are purely working for the money and that’s it, but come on. You still side-stepped my question, but I’ve already come to a conclusion. This place is inept, you are an incompetent manager and I’m an asshole. Too-dah-loo!”
I said all of this in my usual firm voice, but I’m not sure why I added the too-dah-loo part. It rolled off my tongue nicely.
He gave me my change back, I pocketed it and left like a badass walking away from a cool explosion. I really wanted to quote the movie “Law Abiding Citizen” by saying “Lessons not learned in blood are soon forgotten”, but I didn’t want this guy thinking that I’m some crazy-ass son of a bitch and start to call the cops on me.
I also didn’t ask for the right burger a second time because I didn’t want it to be tampered with… just in case.
So instead of settling for a crappy fast food burger, I returned home and tore down six eggs fried in full-fat butter with shredded pepperjack cheese on top. A much better, tastier meal.
Yet I didn’t accomplish my goal: I didn’t complete the carb-up!
It is what it is, and what am I? A definitive, coming-of-age, grade-A asshole!