Taco Hell

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Nothing infuriates me like the stoner working a drive-thru. I always get some burnt out asshole slurring out of a broken Taco Bell speaker. I repeat the order a half-dozen times. Then I sit waiting for way to long as they try to remember to tell me the total so I can get my food.


Then I wait patiently for 45 minutes during bar rush to reach the window to pay and get my food. Why 45 minutes? Because the resin clogging this asshole’s brain makes the subtle art of folding a tortilla seem like advanced study origami. I get to the window, finally, handing my card over to pay and get out of the tenth circle of Taco Hell.

Yet, now I get to sit watching as he has a dramatic conversation with some unseen coworker. The whole time with arms flailing like some out of control muppet, my credit card in his hand.


I am getting dizzy my heads going in circles following my credit card like a cat follows a laser pointer. Finally he realizes Oh shit I am at work and slides the window open to hand me my card.

My happiness is fleeting as A giant soda is shoved in my face right as I try putting my card back in my wallet. This guy needs to figure out a tempo, i wait 45 minutes to order and now I am getting Baja blasted in the fucking face because suddenly he is in the Indy 500 pit crew. At this point, I want to smoosh his face in the burrito grill press

….which we all know is a panini press but we all act like it is special, you’re just burning a tortilla for an extra $3….

Then finally I see him clutching a sack I can only hope is my food. Although with my luck it is his lunch break and I will wait another¬† 45 minutes… hangry….watching him savor his food.

Nope (thank god) it is mine.

I snatch at the bag like it is a mirage and hit the accelerator peeling out before I lose my mind. Swerving to avoid the randoms who have been wandering up to my car window the entire time. I get home bust open the sack of food…then sit staring…nothing…NOTHING is right inside this bag.

But by this time I don’t have the mental fortitude to drive back, wait for 90 minutes to correct my order. So, I have the most passive aggressive grudge meal ever, talking mad shit about this asshole between bites. Eventually I give up and toss the rest to the dog.

I vow to never go back again. The bitter tears streaming down my chubby disappointed face. 

So, the next day when I am back in line like some self hating glutton for punishment, I begin the whole cycle over again. It has strained relationships with my loved ones, and caused me issues at my own job. Yet I suffer, all because one time while he was high he gave me not only my order but some other poor bastard’s order.

I think sometimes this might be like being addicted to crack.

Although, I bet crack is delivered a lot faster…. and I would be skinny.


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