No, I Don’t Want Fries With That.

We’ve made it to Memorial Weekend, our nation’s weekend to commemorate our veterans. With the holiday comes a delicious 3-day weekend for me.

I’ve already squandered Saturday morning of it.

Because I was out until 4 a.m. at the gambling house, making then losing then making then losing a few bucks. Yes, it ended on a, “Well, maybe next time,” note. I’ve been unlucky in gambling for a while now, no big wins in more than a year. I’m mad at the Universe, because it should know by now that I’m a WINNER when it comes to gambling. Except it must have forgotten.

Yesterday I was somewhat easily agitated in the evening. First, this conversation happened at the Burger King drive through:

K: “I’d like a large Diet Pepsi or Coke, whatever you have.”

The Drive Through Speaker: “Will that be all?”

K: “Yes.”

The Drive Through Speaker: “Pull ahead.”

K: “Wait. The screen says large fries. I wanted a diet pepsi.”

TDTS: “A large fry and a diet pepsi?”

K: “No! Just a diet pepsi.”

TDTS: “So fries?”

Me, from the passenger seat of the car: “Jesusfuckingchrist, A DIET PEPSI, HOW FUCKING HARD IS THAT TO UNDERSTAND.”

Yes, I blasphemied all over the parking lot at Burger King.

TDTS: “Okay, got it. Pull ahead.”

Then, K & Trixie looking at each other and said in unison, “You know they’re going to jizz or spit in our diet pepsi now, right?”

Yep. We both knowingly agreed.

T: “Pull out, let’s just leave.”

K: Pulls up anyway and pays $2.58 for a cuppa soda and spit.

*we’d agreed they probably didn’t have the time to jizz in the soda, but they definitely had time to spit or wipe boogers in it.

K: Hands me the drink.

T: “Nope. No thanks. Not even on a Fear-Factor dare.”

K: “But the guy said “sorry about that” – he wouldn’t have apologized if he was going to jizz in it.”

K: Drinks it. Declares it to be spit-free.

T: “But how do you know that for sure?”
K: “It would be …. thicker.”

T: “More …. viscousy??”

K: “Yes, viscousy. It’s not viscous.”

No one wants a viscousy soda pop. No one. Ever.

But I still couldn’t trust it, and therefore it rode around with us all evening until we parked the car in the drive at 4 a.m. and I told K, “Grab the jizzy soda and dump it out.”

*yes, I know we’ve already established there was no time for jizz in the soda. Let’s just agree that “jizzy” is the term that covers any viscousy liquids that could be concealed in our food.

So after my no-gain from yelling at the drive through speaker, I told myself I need to chill the fuck out a little and that came in handy much later that evening when I was behind a group of really-really-oldies doing their entire week’s worth of banking at the cashier’s window at the casino.

I had to simmer myself down, and then as I was in the process of de-working myself up, I noticed the man oldie had on a Navy Veteran hat and then said, “Thank you for your service!” instead of “Hurry the. fuck. up.” Except I didn’t really say either of those things out loud (he was too far away to hear me), but I said them in my head, so I’m counting it as a good deed because it DID make me change my attitude.  Well played, Memorial Weekend.