"My fries are cold" A pudgie hand shoves an empty fries box in my direction.
I peer up to meet his gaze.
"Why do I always get the gross ones" I mumble to myself.
Shifting my eyes to Zach who's serving a chick in her 20s, and back to the customer.
"Sir please show me your receipt" I smile, trying not to sound apathetic.
The man lifts up a paper and proudly smacks it on the counter as if he's won some sort of contest. Using his two fingers to slide it to me.
"The time stamp says ten fifteen," My eyebrows raise, I can't believe this guy.
"Yes, and?" The man nods in response.
"AND!?" "ITS ELEVEN!" Are you fucking kidding me.
Of course this idiots FRIES are cold it's been an HOUR since he ordered them!
Keeping calm was a wish of mine as I wasn't much of a breather when it came to the spontaneous combustion of the constant anger that often fuelled my motion.
Running through crowds of people to find the one I wanted to strangle was, however, calming. Knowing there was something physical I could change about the present, when habits seemed set in stone.
Wedding the pain with the need to inflict it on others. It would seem as though I have always been this way, aggressive, and reckless.
As a child, punching holes in the wall and destroying cardboard boxes, was a rational thing for me to do when I felt bored or lacking attention.
One day my younger brother tried to put his fist through the cinderblock mistaking it for drywall.
His stupidity had become a learning curve for me and I had rendered this trend as old and out of fashion, snooty with denial that it was ever my idea.
Go find part 2