Therapy Anyone?

Two days ago, at work, I'm doing the drive-thru as usual. Up comes a van driven by a mom and occupied by lots of hungry pre-teen boys. At the order box, the mom orders a grande combo (10 items, a combination of soft tacos, hard tacos, and bean burritos), a couple tostadas, and some other stuff. It came out to just under $20.

When she gets up to the window, I ask her if she wants any sauce, and she says she wants a lot of mild sauce. Well, if you read my Taco Bell essay already, you know how I feel about that. But anyway, I gave her like a dozen mild sauces hoping she would be content with it, and of course, she drops the ever-popular line, "Can I have some more sauce?"

I suppose there wasn't anything wrong with it in this case since there was a lot of food ordered. What annoys me is when people come through, order something like 2 tacos, and ask for A TON OF SAUCE!!!!!!!! I DRINK THE STUFF, NO SERIOUSLY "BRO", I PUT IT IN A FRICKIN GLASS AND CHUG IT! SOMETIMES I MAKE SOUP. IT'S REALLY QUITE DELICIOUS. I DON'T ACTUALLY EAT THE TACOS. THEY ARE FOR MY DOG.

I hate it when most people call me bro. Because the majority of the time, they are the "meathead" type of people who would have flunked out of high school if they hadn't cheated on all their homework and tests, who wear their hat sideways because they think it looks cool to have only one sunburned ear, who talk really slowly and with an attitude while slurring half of their words, and who do so many drugs that they could actually substitute their brain for scrambled eggs as a breakfast meal without any noticeable change. And I would rather jump into a swimming pool filled with man-eating monkeys, flesh-eating butterflies, and little hamsters brandishing toothpicks than be related to someone like that.

One time, somebody come through the drive-thru and ordered a taco with no lettuce, and when they got up to the window, I asked if they wanted any sauce, and they said, "No thanks, it's for my dog. And can you make sure they put no lettuce on there? He doesn't like lettuce." Umm, I guess he doesn't like a little something we call DOG FOOD either??!?!

Anyway, to make a long story even longer, do you remember that lady in the van who was asking for the mild sauce? Me neither.

Oh wait, yeah, she said, "Can I get some more mild sauce?" So I was like sure, why not, I don't have any opinions on that subject.

Then the clincher. As her defense for asking for more sauce, she said, "I've got a lot of boys in the car, and they like a lot of sauce...but they're women boys, so they like mild sauce.

...

Do you ever wonder how young pre-teen boys can seem so promising, so full of potential, only to grow up and turn into flaming homosexuals? Well, there's your answer.

I can see the future psychiatrist visits now:

Psychiatrist: Now Timmy, can you try and pinpoint any specific moments in your life where you may have acquired your, shall we say, flamboyant behavior?

Timmy (in a rapid, high-pitched, blonde ditz type voice): Well, my mom was like always getting on my case about using mild sauce like whenever we went to Taco Bell, and like she would say like why don't you like hot sauce Timmy and I would be like oh my god mom I've told you like a million times it burns my tongue and she would say like you're going to turn into a women if you keep eating that mild sauce Timmy and I was like WHATEVER mom.

Psychiatrist: Hmmm, this could account for a lot of things, including why you are wearing pantyhose and a pink skirt.

Timmy: Do you like my skirt? SHUT UP!! I love it too! You wanna go to the movies?

Psychiatrist: Well, technically I'm not supposed to go to any social events with patients. I could be fired and sentenced to practice psychiatry for life in Psychiatrist Prison.

Timmy: Psychiatrist Prison? What's that?

Psychiatrist: The Osbourne's house.


The best part of the whole ordeal aside from the mom's comment was what happened after the mom said that. The boy sitting in the front seat looked over at me and his mouth opened in shock at what his mom said and he had a puzzled expression of fear and embarrassment on his face that was priceless. I could only imagine what was going on inside of that boy's head. It was probably something along the lines of, "Women boy am I? I'll show you mom! As soon as I get home, I'm going to shave my peach fuzz, put on some cologne, and change my name to Chuck Diesel, manliest man ever to...ahh screw it. I wonder if any of mom's pantyhose fits me?"