The Scolai

“Just a Good Guy…With a Few Bad Habits”

One of Those Days

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(Originally posted at

Pretty common topic I know, but this was definitely one of them. My wife recently had surgery and so I have been driving her everywhere. Yesterday, she asked me to stop by the local McDonalds to get her some breakfast before dropping her at her office. My twins had stayed with a friend the night before, but the “Princess” and “Rusin the Younger” had stayed at our house and were, of course, hungry also. We went through the drive thru. Believe me, Pesci was right in “Lethal Weapon 2” when he said: “They F*%k you at the drive thru!!”

After getting her situated at the office I went back to the car. My wife is one of those funny people who won’t eat meat, at least not the cheap stuff. Shrimp, Crab, and Lobster are okay, just not the more pedestrian meats. As I got into the car, I had a feeling I had better check the rest of our order. As you might have expected, half of it was missing. So its back to McDonalds I go. Once there, I waited ten minutes in the drive thru. When I finally got to the box I explained what had happened to the disembodied voice. It answered: “Oh yeah, we realized that. Pull around the cars ahead of you and someone will be right out.” I pulled up and waived to the woman working the second window. She waived back.

Now any sensible person would think that means: “I see you and I’ll be right out.” Unfortunately, our local McDonalds isn’t populated by sensible people. After waiting ten more minutes, I entered the building. After knocking loudly on the unattended counter, I was met by a rather robust young woman who had covered both of her eyebrow piercings with band aids. “Can I help you?” she asked. “Yes. You folks left out half my order, and now you’ve kept me waiting for ten minutes while what you did give me went cold.” I answered.  She asked what I was missing, then moved back to the prep line and said something to the girl working there.

This particular McDonalds has a clear view of the prep area from the front counter, and as I was standing there I could see that “prep girl” wasn’t making what I had ordered, but I decided to give her the benefit of a doubt. Imagine my surprise when “counter girl” took the items from “prep girl,” put them into a bag and handed them to me. “Here ya go. Have a nice day” she laconically said. Now, I have made great strides in controlling my temper over the last twenty years or so, but this just about put me in Vesuvius territory. “Time out!” I said, taking the items from the bag and slamming them one by one on the counter. “This is not what I ordered.” “It isn’t?” she asked. “I spoke to you not more than five seconds before you went back and told “prep girl” what to make. How the hell do you screw something up from here to there?” She looked at me with a blank expression that said: “This is way over my head.”

Seeing that an adult might better understand this situation, I asked to speak to a manager. Big mistake. The manager that waddled up (and I do mean waddled) was an older, larger version of “counter girl.” She immediately set me in a confrontational mood when the first words of her jowly face were: “What’s the problem, and why are you raising your voice?” I won’t give the exact details of my conversation with this Rosie O’Donnell clone, but they involved a loud and large amount of swearing on my part, and finding someone who could actually get an order straight on hers.

You would think this encounter would be enough for one day. Not. I dropped breakfast off to the two girls at home and then went to the local Rite Aid to fill a prescription. I made the mistake of walking up to the “pick up” window instead of the “drop off” window. Keep in mind I was the only one in the pharmacy area at this time. The matronly lady who came to the window asked what she could do for me. I smiled, as I always do when dealing with elderly retail workers, and said: “I’d like to fill this script for my wife, ma’am.” In keeping with the way my day was going, she gave me an extremely condescending look and sternly said: “You are at the wrong window.” Needless to say, I nearly passed out choking down my temper on that one. “Where am I supposed to be?” I asked, as pleasantly as I could manage. “At the ‘Drop Off’ window” she curtly answered. I walked down to the “Drop Off” window repeating “respect your elders, respect your elders.” At the “Drop Off” window I was met by guess who? The same woman! “You mean to tell me I had to walk all the way down here when you had my script in your hand?” I asked. “That’s right” was all the answer I got from her.

After taking my information, she said “15 minutes.” I answered, “I’ll wait.” I sat down in the waiting area and waited. Remember I’m the only one waiting. After 10 minutes a name came over the loud speaker, definitely not mine, so I waited some more. During the ensuing 15 minutes, this lady looked at me at least 3 times. Finally, she held up a bag and said: “Are you going to take this?” At this point I was nearly apoplectic. “You mean to tell me that that script has been ready all this time, with you looking at me waiting, and you never bothered to tell me?” The pharmacist, hearing the commotion, came to the counter. “What’s the problem?” he asked, attempting a professional demeanor. “Nothing a little competence wouldn’t cure, and don’t bother puffing your chest pal, I’m leaving.”

I paid for the script at the front counter to avoid any further problems and left to go to the gym. Thinking to myself: “This day can’t get any worse, I’ll burn off some stress and I’ll feel better.” I walked into the gym to find a teenage girl in street clothes splayed out on the only bench in the room, talking to a heavy set teenage girl in sweats. I looked up and silently prayed “Lord, you have to be kidding me.”  I sat down on a rowing machine to change my shoes just in time to over hear the girl in sweats tell the owner: “Uh, me and my friends are supposed to go shopping and stuff, but I have to work out first. So… their going to come in and wait, okay?” The next thing I know five teenage girls, with Nintendo physiques came bulging through the door followed by one boy who had to have been a white ethiope.

So now she has an audience and I have agitta. These kids were literally passing around a box of “Cocoa Puffs” and yelling across the room to their friend, who had turned out to be the “thin”, “pretty” one of the group.  By now I was nearly defeated. I stopped my work out, packed up my stuff and got in my truck to go home. I thought I would just go back to bed and write this one off.

As I was pulling out of the parking lot, I was nearly hit head on by a teenager in a full size Dodge Pick Up. The driver was wearing his baseball cap sideways and had gigantic, “hoop” piercings in both of his lobes. He looked out at me and threw his hands up in a “What do you think you’re doing” motion. Like most kids these days, he must have thought he could do this with impunity. Unlike most adults these days, I believe in accountability. I jumped out of my truck and started for his door, bent on pulling him out and teaching him the respect his father should have. The young wanna be bad ass decided discretion was the better part of valor as he put his truck in reverse, flipped me off, and headed down the road.

I don’t know how many of you would have reacted, but I took the Scolai route:

A Boilermaker and Bed.

It was just “One of Those Days.”



Written by thescolai

April 29, 2007 at 1:08 pm

One Response

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  1. Very funny. A long post but hey, we’re blood. I stuck it out. Glad I did.


    April 30, 2007 at 10:13 am

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