Recently, I had the misfortune of running into possibly one of the stupidest individuals on the planet, possibly stupider than the ham moron. Stupidity is an epidemic, folks, and it is everywhere, and there is no escape. Observe:
I order Chinese food from the local joint, and graciously offer to pick it up myself, because despite the fact that this place is less than a mile away from my abode, if you pick it up, you can do so twenty minutes after you called and ordered it, but if you ask them to deliver it, it requires an hour and a half for some reason. Anyway, I give them my name and phone number, and trundle down there in my car half an hour later to pick up my food (around 10pm.)
The restaurant is pretty much empty at that hour, so I drive up to the pick up window, and ask for my food. The teenage retard operating the window and I had the following encounter, and I seriously believe that she owes me large sums of money for not choking her until she was dead. For the purposes of this writing, I will refer to her as “CFM” – Chinese Food Moron.
I repeat my name. CFM disappears for EIGHT MINUTES. CFM reappears.
CFM: What did you say your name was again?
Me: Miz Parker.
CFM: I’m sorry, we don’t have an order under that name.
Me: Maybe you should check under my phone number. It’s XXX-XXXX.
CFM disappears for another four minutes. I start to have to pee.
CFM: Ummm…..we don’t have anything under that phone number either. Could you give it to me again?
Me: Yes, it’s XXX-XXXX, and if it’s not under that it’s possible I gave you my cell number instead of home. It’s XXX-XXXX.
CFM furrows her brow, looking confused. I sigh loudly and look at my watch in an obvious manner. Three and a half minutes pass while she is presumably looking at a computer screen.
CFM: Ummmmm, could you like, give me your name again?
At this point, I hand her my ID because I am trying to be helpful. Perhaps it would help her to have my name right in front of her. She peers at it as if she has never seen a driver’s license before. The peering requires another minute and a half.
CFM: I’m sorry, I can’t find it.
Me: (getting frustrated) Well, how many orders do you have sitting back there waiting to be picked up?
CFM: Just one.
Me: (refraining from slapping my own forehead in consternation, knuckles clenching) Well, at this hour, doesn’t it make sense that the order you have back there for pickup might belong to the ONLY PERSON ASKING TO PICK UP FOOD?
CFM: (stupid look, blinking in silence)
CFM: Umm, I can’t just give you that order, I have to verify that it’s yours.
Me: Look, you or someone else told me over the phone told me that this order of food was worth $23.06. What does the receipt taped to that order back there say it’s worth?
CFM disappears for another three minutes, just out of my sight. By this time, I am crossing my legs because I REALLY have to pee.
CFM: Ummm, it’s worth $23.06.
Me: Terrific, I’ll take it! I don’t even care what it is.
CFM: Well, I guess I could let you take it, but I really should verify….
Me: No. No verifying. I GUARANTEE YOU that the food is mine. I’m the only person here, and it’s the only food you have, and they’re worth the same amount. Make sense? (I nod my head in an exaggerated fashion, hoping that CFM will monkey see, monkey do and nod in agreement.)
CFM: (looking uncomfortable) Well, I guess….
CFM disappears for another six minutes. What the fuck is going on back there? Is there some kind of space vortex inside the Chinese restaurant that requires her to travel to another dimension to find the food, and each trip shaves off a few more IQ points? Is she afraid that the Chinese food police will arrest her if she doesn’t verify each order? At this point, my back teeth are floating and 26 minutes has passed since I pulled up to the drive-through window. I could have cooked the Chinese food myself faster than this. I am having a hard time not leaping through the window and beating her senseless. CFM reappears with a bag of food.
CFM: How will you be paying for this?
Me: (handing her my VISA) Here.
CFM: (peers at it for about thirty seconds) Umm, can I see your ID?
Me: You mean the ID that you spent three minutes looking at when I first got here?
CFM: Yeah, I have to verify your VISA card.
I hand her my ID, again. She compares the names, and hands it back. She runs my VISA. I’m developing facial twitches at this point. She hands the receipt and clipboard out and I sign it, and she says (get this)
CFM: Ummmmmm, can I see your ID one more time? I have to match the signatures. Sorrreeeeeeee!
Blood shoots from my eye sockets and I bathe her in my wrath. I have never hated another human being as much as I hate this one. I speed home, pee, and open the food. It is cold.