Being me is hard sometimes. I’ll relate a story, so you get the picture.
It’s one of my better days. I walk into a small McDonalds late at night to get some grub. It was fairly warm outside, so I guessed I’d get my food on the fly. I walk up to the counter and ask for a Big Mac meal. Not too hard, right? Well, apparently some new kid had gotten shifted off onto a late shift, and they couldn’t find the stinking button for the Big Mac Meal. It can’t be that hard, I mean really, Big Macs are pretty big on the menu of things that people get at Micee Dees. So I got kind of agitated. I waited for a while, and she went and got her friend, who as soon as she got to the register said, “I’m a burger girl, and I can’t work this thing.”
Wait a minute.... You just said you couldn’t work the cash register? It’s a push button fricken thing. You don’t even have to count change! You just pull out what it tells you too! IT CAN’T BE THAT HARD!
Well, to make a long story short, when I get agitated, my wings start to act up. It’s like a nervous reaction, like a twitch I can’t really stop. And so when my wings started shifting around on the back, well, lets just say that newbie McD’s girl wasn’t so receptive of my consumer-ness. And so with a what the hell, and a brisk jog out of that McDonalds, I’d say that I was thoroughly pissed and Big Mac-less.
Guess that’s what you get for being “special”. Going hungry for being different. Well, that's not a new concept, is it?
On Angel’s Wings,
RFeathers