I stood behind the counter at register number three, my designated station for the day.  My ill-fitting, purple unisex uniform made me the envy of the fashion world but I kept my visor tilted slightly to the side to show that I never forgot my urban roots; the golden arches logo dingy and smelling like years of grease.

"Hello!  Welcome to Burger King," I said, my hips gyrating slowly to the constant drone of elevator music playing through the speaker directly above my head.  "May I take your order?"

The look of confusion that came across the face of the heavyset customer across the counter was enough to fill me with glee.  I proceeded to bust into the running man.  He actually began to second guess himself thinking that it was possible that he actually did walk into a Burger King by mistake.

"Don't worry, sir," I said in the most cheerful tone I could muster given that I had a thumbtack stuck in my foot, "that's just a little game we here at register number three like to play on our valued customers.  What can I assist you with today?"

"I'd, uh," he stammered.  It never fails; no matter how many times they've eaten here before or how long they've been waiting in line, it's always a process to extract the order from them.  "I'd like a quarter pounder, please."

"And how would you like that cooked?"

"Cooked?"

"Yes, we offer rare, medium rare, medium, and well done," I countered.

"Well, I wasn't aware that I had a choice."  He didn't, but who was I to break the news to him?  "How do you guys cook it normally?" he asked.

"With lots of tender loving care!" I exclaimed, trying my best to sound happy and not gay but failing at both.  "Each customer that visits us here at McDonalds is very important to us and we aim to provide the best quality service and food by hiring the lowest common denominator of employee and paying them a shit wage!  Isn't it fantastic?"



I was doing the Roger Rabbit now.

He cracked a smile, obviously too stupid to see through my ruse.  "That really just made my day.  I think I'll have my burger medium then."

"Medium it is!  And what would you like to drink?"

"Uh, a Dr. Pepper I guess."

"Wouldn't you prefer a DIET Dr. Pepper?"

His eyes narrowed but I could tell that he knew I was right.  "Sure, that's what I meant."

I leaned over the counter and tried to kiss him.  He recoiled and it got awkward.  "Yeah," I said, my eyes concentrating on the floor.  "I thought that's what you wanted but I guess it got weird.  So, where do we go from here?"

"Maybe you could try getting my order together?" he said, the confusion slowly returning to his face.

"Oh, no, I can't do that," I said.  "You see, I was assigned to register duty and as such, I am not allowed back in the kitchen.  My manager has threatened to feed me to the snakes if I make that mistake again."

"Snakes?  What?"

"Oh, sure.  How do you think we make chicken nuggets?"  I paused for dramatic effect.  "From chicken?  HAHAHA.  Seriously, sir, stop it.  You're killing me over here."

"That's horrible," he said, geniune concern ebbing from his mouth.

"Yeah, I blame the poor economic climate in southern Russia.  Also, it's been a bad year for heroin crops, but what can you do?"

I was doing the robot.

"I don't really see what this has to do with my-"

Before he could finish, I began throwing boxes of cookies at his head.

"Ow, you bastard," he exclaimed.  "That hurts."

"Oh, I'm sorry," I said, my tone similar to how you would mock someone you just urinated on, "I forgot to ask.  Did you want fries with that?"

"No!  Look," he managed, trying to calm himself, "I don't want any fries.  I just want my order.  I am in a bit of a hurry and all of this isn't helping my ulcer."

"I totally stuck my hand in the fry oil once.  Well, not really, but I did think about it pretty hard.  Did you know that McDonalds has a 24 hour hotline specifically for fry oil?  I guess like if you spill it or feed it to a lost dog or something.  I bet that dog would totally get all mutant and start swallowing whole towns."

I was doing the humpty dance now.  And quite well I might add.

"I'm sorry, but is your manager around?"

"Maybe.  Hard to tell.  You know, with the whole me not being able to go in back and check thing.  You know, the snakes in back and all."

"Yeah, well, I just kind of wanted to ask him a question or two," said the man.  "Do you think that would be ok?"

"Oh, I'm sure it would!  He likes questions!" I explained as I was jumping up and down.  "But I still can't help you."

"Why not?" he said innocently, sort of like when you tell a hooker that you don't want to have relations with her.

I shook a disapproving finger at him as I segued into doing the Pee Wee Herman.  "I know what you're up to, mister.  You're not fooling anyone.  You want to tell on me."

"Tell on you?  No, why would I-"

And that's when he lunged at me, his hands outstreched in some kind of Homer Simpson real-life chokehold.  I moved deftly aside and greeted his arrival with a nice elbow to the temple.  He collapsed, rubbing the side of his head and groaning.

"They teach you a lot more than just great customer service at McDonalds bootcamp," I proudly proclaimed, though I was entirely lying about the being proud part.

"Say, look," the fat man managed between groans, "why don't we just let bygones be bygones and maybe you just get my food for me?"

"Sorry, you didn't say please."

"Please?"

"Too late.  I'm quite sure you know the rule."

"Rule!?" he asked, his anger flaring up again.  "What goddamn rule?"

"The 'Please' Rule, you doofus.  If you ask me to do something and forget to say please, you can't ask me to do that same thing again for another 30 minutes.  It's really quite simple."

"So, you're saying that I won't be able to ask for my food again for another half hour?"

"Well, technically you were just in violation again since you sort of said the same words just rearranged, but I'll let that pass because you're new."

"Christ, this is the worst experience I've ever had here.  You are an absolutely horrible person."

"Did you know that in Kuala Lampur, they have a McDonalds buffet?  You know, one of those 'serve yourself' kind of things?  Yeah, that'd be sweet.  Just think if we had a buffet here.  You wouldn't need me to get your food for you.  In fact, the most interaction that we would have is when you pay and perhaps if we were low on fish sandwiches or something.  Even then, it would be real limited.  Like, you would simply come up and say, 'hey exaulted one at register three, you are a little low on the fish sandwiches' and I would smile, nod, and politely ignore you because I'm Malaysian and I didn't understand a word you just said.  Stupid American."



The large man sighed audibly, his whole body shaking like some kind of personal earthquake.  "So, I'm probably not going to be able to eat what I ordered for quite a while then?  And if I am really hungry, I should probably find another restuarant, right?"

"You're catching on."

"Ok then, I guess that settles that.  Good day, sir."

He reached out his hand in a gesture that probably meant he wanted to shake my hand but I had watched that scene in Batman way too many times where the Joker fried that one guy who wasn't on his team.  I reached out my hand but then pulled it back at the last minute and ran my fingers through my hair.

"Syke!" I said.  "Now, begone."  I motioned through the air with my other hand in a dismissive kind of way.  "Next!"

An elderly woman in a walker made her way to the counter and I proceeded to move side to side in a MC Hammer-like motion.  There was no way she could touch this.

"Hi!  Welcome to Burger King.  How can I help you?"