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Whoppers

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“Can I take your order?” The acne ridden cashier’s words dawned on my ears like the tolling of church bells, marking my death.

“Gee, if only I had an order, I would really like something, you know? But, I just can’t decide what I want.” Thinking about it, I must have sounded high or out of my mind to the cashier as the words slowly drooled out of my mouth.

“We’ve got other customers sir, can you either step out of line while you decide or order?”

“Wait, no, I’m almost done, I swear. I’d like a whopper, yeah. A nice, juicy whopper. Except I don’t like onions, or lettuce or tomato, or mayo.”

“You do realize that is just a patty on a bun at this point, right?”

“Really? Darn it. All right, one second. I’ll pick something else.”

The cashier just stared at me like Oh come on, I have a half hour left on shift and I have to get this idiot? Just order a burger like every other normal person in this restaurant so I can go home already.

“Uhhh, what do you like the best off of the menu?”

“Sir, if I tell you I like the Original Chicken Sandwich, will you order it?”

“No, probably not. I had chicken for lunch today, and I don’t really want the same meat twice today.”

The cashier just buried his face in his hands, waiting for me to make my order.

“What comes on the Double Hamburger?” I asked

“Two hamburgers on two buns. Hard to believe by reading the text, I know,” The cashier sardonically replied.

“You know, I really like your fries, maybe I’ll just get an extra large fry and go home.”

The cashier hovered his finger over the button, as if to be ready to complete the fastest order he’s ever done in his two short months of working here. He really wanted to get rid of me.

“But if I order a meal, I get fries with that, don’t I?”

“Yes, yes, you do.” The cashier put his hands back on the counter, as he already knew what was coming next.

I stood back and stared at the menu some more. Jeez. There are so many options here! How am I supposed to decide what I want in a timely fashion with all of these choices! Hmm, the A1 burger looks good, maybe I’ll get that.

“I’ll have one A1 burger, extra large fry and a medium drink, please.”

The cashier’s face brightened up as he slammed his fingers into the button, completing my order. “Thank you, that’ll be $7.85-“ he was interrupted by the booming tone of his manager,

“Frankie, we’re all out of A1 today, take a different order please”

The cashier frantically looked for anything that could get him out of this mess, finding nothing, he finally turned around and stared me in the eye. His teeth clenched, he forced out the mumbled words, “I’m sorry sir, we’re all out. Can. I. Get. You. Anything. Else?!”

The cashier seemed really angry, but I replied, “Yeah, sure. One second,” and continued staring at the giant screen that displayed the menu.

“Hmmmmm, have you ever had a mushroom and Swiss burger? How is it?”

“I’m lactose intolerant, sir. I have never had the mushroom and Swiss burger.”

“Well, then, okay. Is it possible for you to take the mushrooms off of that?”

“Then it would just be a cheeseburger with Swiss cheese.”

“Aww, darn it. That doesn’t sound nearly as exciting. One moment please.”

You could faintly hear the sounds of the cashier cursing himself for making my order sound less interesting, and cursing me for having stood in a burger king line for almost four or five minutes now and still having not decided my order. The cashier to the direct right took a large workload so that the restaurant could keep moving. I kind of felt bad for them, but I was just having the worst luck trying to decide what to order today.

“All right, I’ve made my decision. I’d like a Steakhouse Burger with extra large fries and a medium drink.”

The cashier punched in my order faster than a streaking bolt of lightning and I gave him my money. He looked at his hand, as if to expect more. “Sir?”

“Yes?” I replied.

“You still owe me about two bucks.”

“Oh, really? I’m sorry. I’m really out of focus today, I guess,” I reached into my pocket and gave him two more dollars and he gave me a tray and cup.

“Please wait in the other line while I get your food. For here or to go?”

“To go, please. I’m in a rush.”

The cashier just stared at me. I could see him inserting tiny daggers into my flesh with his eyes, as if to say, You’re in a rush?

I went and filled my drink with the usual, one part Coke, one part root beer, and two parts Dr. Pepper at the refillable soda machine. I took a few sips; it was refreshing after all of the intense decision making. Sitting in line, I waited for my number to be called, so I could grasp my delectable sandwich and be on my way.

“Thirty-Two!” The chef shouted as I walked to the counter,
“That’s me!” I replied, as if having just won the lottery. I grabbed my sandwich with a rush of pride as I gallivanted out of the doorway. Looking back at the cashier, who, frustratingly, just placed his hat on the counter and began almost ripping his uniform off. It was quite the sight to see, I almost got some sadistic joy out of his frustration, I thought the entire scenario that had just occurred was hilarious, and I couldn’t figure out why he was so upset, but, nonetheless, I had my sandwich and he had his paycheck and that was all that mattered to both of us.

Walking out the door, I feel the rush of cold air against my skin, I reach into the bag for the burger, look at it for a second, and the only thing that passes my mind, one, singular thought that probably would have helped me a few minutes ago:

Man, I really should have gotten the Whopper instead.





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