I did something yesterday that I almost NEVER do – eat fast food, that is. Maybe 4 times/year I get a notion for some Scottish food; Mac-Donald’s, that is. So I bop in there bright and early for my breakfast.
Now here’s the thing – my “rule” when I gots to have Scottish is pretty simple – I eyeball whatever is being kept heated in that funky infrared conveyance, and then categorically order whatever is NOT in there; that way I make ’em cook it up not now but RIGHT now – for ME.
The clerk is a mid-20’s young lady who has…let’s just say she’s overweight (“Court Stenographer – you are hereby instructed to strike Mr. Jones’ last reference – “Pie Wagon” – from the record.”), but friendly enough.
I order my entrée, full well expecting her reply; to wit: “We’ll have to make that for you – just go have a seat and I’ll bring it out to you.” Hey – just what I need – ANOTHER woman in my life tellin’ me what to do! I go have a seat…
Ten minutes later she waddles on out to my table with my Mac-Breakfast; she sets it right in front of me. “Sorry about the wait”, she says…
“Ah, don’t worry about it; you’re young – you’ll work it off.”
I thought I saw her tear up a little as she turned and walked away – did I say something wrong?