-- I’ll take a number 2 value meal. Ah, and no lettuce, or dignity; but extra ridiculousness.

Word up mother fuckers. It’s Big P Funk coming at you. I haven’t written some shit like this in ages. Mostly, because I’m a lazy bastard. But all reality aside, here I am before you again with more nuggets of wisdom. Possibly, Nugettes of wisdom. I haven’t decided which, at this point.

If you haven’t figured out what this piece is about, based on the title (And I’ll be honest, I don’t blame you if you haven’t. The title is confusing as all hell.), let me go ahead and tell you. I’m referring to ordering food at a fast-food establishment. I’m talking about your Taco Bells, your McDonalds (aka McShiznit, McShizzles, and McShizarooni.), your Kentucky Fried Chickens, and yes, even Weiner Schnitzels. Feel free to laugh at the word “Weiner schnitzel” right now, because I’m not going to put up with that kind of behavior later on in this literature.

This piece is meant to both educate as well as inform. I’m going to talk about all kinds of activity that takes place in these establishments. We’ll all have a good laugh. Then it’s time to hit the books. You’re going to learn what to look for when you walk in. How you can tell if the Mexican behind the counter knows what the fuck you’re talking about when he or she has a grin on their face and is nodding along with you as you order.

Now at this point you may be saying “Who is this guy to tell me he knows all about fast food and food that’s fast? He’s not even fat! How can I take this guy seriously!?” Relax. Those are all valid questions. Allow me to explain my qualifications. First of all, I sit at a computer all day. Yeah that’s right. ALL day. When I leave work, I come home and sit in front of the computer. I don’t even have a girlfriend. That’s right ladies, tell a friend, bitch. I’m going to speculate that maybe 60% of you are convinced now. Let me take up the slack. My job is located next door to a McDonalds. We’re talking walking distance here. No, I don’t think you understand. I look out my window to judge the crowd at McDonalds, based on the free parking spaces in the parking lot. So don’t tell me I don’t know my shit here.

Let’s get started.

Lesson 1 – Get Focused

“He’s killing you Rock!” That’s what you’re going to be telling yourself when you stroll through that double door unprepared, junior. When you’re about to get your grub on, you have to have a plan. Otherwise, you’re going to end up wandering aimlessly around the menu in your mind, holding up the line, and pissing me off if I’m in line behind you. So straighten up, because we don’t have any time for your random shenanigans and tomfoolery here.

Ok so here’s what we do. First, know what you want. If you’re going to order a Big Mac, then you’d better walk up there knowing you want a Big Mac. Have a backup plan ready too. There’s nothing worse than confidently striking up to the counter and declaring “Good afternoon Jose. I’d like a Big Mac!”, only to hear “Es no Grande Mac’os senor.” That shit will totally ruin your day. Then you’ll be blubbering and stuttering like a kid who got off the short bus and uses safety scissors. Needless to say, you’re going to feel like an ass, and that is unacceptable.

Ok, so you know what you want right? Good. Now we’re ready to get in line.

Lesson 2 – Get That Fast Food Fast

More than likely when you show up at this joint, you’re going to have to wait in line. Choosing which line you’re going to stand in, is an art all in itself. It can cost you up to and including 5 minutes if you fuck up and pick the wrong green card connoisseur to help you. So let’s talk about some shit you need to keep your eyes peeled for. Sometimes, waiting in line can actually give you an advantage for a split second. But you’re going to have to make a decision quickly; especially if there is more than one line to choose from.

The first thing to assess (We’re assuming there are multiple lines here. For the sake of argument we’ll say there are two.) is pretty obvious: the count. How many people are in each line? This is a good starting point. By no means is it the determining factor, but it helps. Line A has 12 people and Line B has 10, stands to reason to go to Line B, right? Yeah, usually. What about if Line A has 9 people and Line B has 2? “LINE B SYBER!” Wrong dip shit. You think that if one line has 6 more people than another, that you’re the first person to notice that shit? Maybe, but the chances are really slim. It’s much more likely that Line B, with only 2 people has some weird shit going on that you don’t know about. Leave it alone. You have you use some common sense here.

That said, there are a few ways to avoid the lines altogether. So let me just briefly touch on that. Lunch time is at 12:00 pm. Well, sort of. It used to be. I’ve noticed, through my extensive research, that it’s actually somewhere closer to 1:00 pm these days. Why? Well, stupid people take lunch later, because when they return to work, they have less time remaining before they go home. It’s genius, except for the fact that you have to work longer in the morning before lunch. Sure, I suppose it’s all psychological, but if you hate your job, get another one. Taking lunch later isn’t going to fix that.

Anyway, to retract from my tangent; you can use this trend to your advantage. The employees come in about 11:30 to prepare for the lunch crowd. Now, if you figure the average worker has a 12:00 pm lunch, and it takes 10 minutes to get to McD’s, that the crowd is going to hit right around 12:15. I call this the “Quarter After Effect”. The same thing happens at about 1:15 pm, following the 1:00 pm lunch crowd. My solution is to hit about 12:45. The reasons are pretty simple. First, by that time, the 12:00 lunchers have to be getting back to the office. Secondly, obviously, it’s before the 1:00ers get there. Finally, it’s in between both, so the kitchen is still fully staffed. You don’t want to try this at 1:45 because although the lines will be down, the food will be an hour old, if it’s left over, and if not, the lunch work force is compromised, and even a few people in line will take forever to get served.

That’s all well and good, but I wouldn’t have to write a 45 page manifesto if that’s all there was to it. The real talent comes in the scouting. Yes that’s right, the Boy Scouts of America will teach you how to do things with rope you never thought possible. Just wait until you’re all grown up, and your girlfriend, or boyfriend if you’re one of the girls reading this (pause for laughter… then realize I said Boy Scouts, which girls can’t be in) is moving their couch, and you can confidently stroll up to the back of the pickup truck, take that rope and say “Over, under around and through… that’s what it takes, to tie a shoe” Following the laughter that you won’t get from that ridiculous recital, you’ll proceed to tie a complex knot that nobody:

1. Understands
2. Notices
3. Gives a rat’s ass about

On top of that, if I catch you pitching a tent while I’m trying to order my Big Mac, we’re going to have some problems. First of all, only girls use dome tents, and secondly, you can’t ram stakes into the ceramic tiles on the floor dumb ass. Furthermore, you should be out killing a deer with your bare hands or something, and then cooking it on an open fire. You certainly shouldn’t be here with me ordering McDonalds food that we all know is made out of kangaroo meat, mixed with the meat from kangaroos

Awesome. So, I actually wasn’t talking about the Boy Scouts, I was talking about the scouting abilities it takes to make your trip through the lines at Chic Fillet that much more fun. Let’s go.

Lesson 3 – Get That Fast Food Fast….er.

Ok let’s get a little more in-depth. Who’s in the line? This shit makes a difference. Here are a few customers you want to steer clear of. Them standing in front of you is going to cost you all kinds of valuable time:

• Johnny McGymclass. Easy there cool guy! We all respect your coolness for cutting school and driving here to Carl’s Jr. in your mom’s Ford Taurus. Now that you’ve successfully accomplished the first stage of your juvenile outing, kindly SHUT THE FUCK UP until you get to the counter to order. See if there’s one thing I know about high school, it’s that when you’re in it, you are totally secluded from the outside world. This pertains to all aspects of life, including the way you act, the way you dress, what you think is funny, and the idea that Honda Civics are dope ass rides.
  
  With that said, you can now understand why little Johnny will crack joke after joke, and all of the other kids he cut 4th period with will laugh uncontrollably until there are tears in their eyes. In the mean time, the other customers will look at their shoes so they don’t have to get into a confrontation with this bunch of hoodlums. Oh, and don’t take it lightly, I just overheard Johnny say he got jumped the other day. He beat all 35 of the guys up, spit on their leader, then he stole the guy’s car, and fucked his girlfriend. Honest to God. I’m not making this up. If that’s what Johnny said he did, then by God, that’s the way it happened. After all, what reason would he have to lie? After they stop cracking up, they’ll get quiet for a few seconds, until one of them will mumble something unintelligible, and then they’ll all crack up again. This is more than likely because they’re now making fun of somebody else in the room. Don’t worry, this is common practice. Just ignore it, the fun is only beginning. When Johnny gets to the counter, he’ll be laughing at the last joke, so it’ll take him about an hour to compose himself. At this point, he’ll order the whopper. This is the cue for his friend to start cracking up. When asked what he’s laughing about, he’ll manage to leak out “You said ‘whopper’!” after about 10 more minutes. This will then cue the rest of the dropout squad to laugh uncontrollably for just under the time it takes the moon to complete a lunar cycle.

• Oprah Winfrey and Sally Struthers. I hate to say it folks. But fat people are going to slow your roll. And by roll, I’m not referring to the area of their body just above their hips. In the defense of these people who haven’t yet discovered Tae-Bo, they might actually be pretty decent at ordering. However, the fact remains that they’re going to order the entire lunch menu, this side of the hashbrowns. In this case quality just can’t make up for quantity. I almost want to give them the benefit of the doubt, until I think about the springs and shocks in the drivers side of their car, and it brings a tear to my eye.

• Mom with more than one child. Forget this shit immediately. This bitch is about to take ALL FUCKING DAY ordering for her irritating ass kids. Chances are, one of them is running around like he or she is in mother fucking Disneyland to begin with. You have to remember what McDonalds does to kids. Barring the running child, she’s still going to order at least 3 times. Add that to the fact that she’s going to fuck up twice. So that’s 5 orders. Now factor in the specialty condiments, like little Billy wanting no ketchup, mustard, cheese, lettuce, tomato, onions, bread, or burger either… multiplied by Jill wanting the Barbie toy, and not the Hot Wheels. So, with that in mind, if you carry the 2, and divide by the time of day over the cosine of the day of the week, and the result is that you’re about to be one irritated ass McShiznit customer my friend.

• Juanito, Mr. Chang, Olga, or Hardip Bin Laden: The immigrant crew. Anybody who fits this bill is about to cost you the big one. Now I’m not saying immigrants are stupid. I’m just saying they’re immigrants. They can’t fucking speak English. Don’t lie. You’ve lived here your entire life, and you’re not even doing too well with it, are you? That’s right Mr. English 101. Get your shit together. So anyway, these people are pretty self-explanatory. Their inability to communicate is going to cost valuable time. Let’s not forget that the person they’re talking to most likely can’t speak English either.

• Agnes, Pearl, Harold, and Abraham. The geezers are almost as bad as the foreigners, albeit they’re a hell of a lot funnier to watch in action. Ok, so first off, you’re going to get a bit of the communication problems with these old farts. But that aside, these geriatric consumers are notorious for their special needs. And trust me, fast-food isn’t spared this stipulation at all. It pretty much goes without saying that they’re not going to know what anything is on the menu. In fact, it’s a fucking stretch if they even know what restaurant they’re in. Don’t be shocked to see Eugene slowly cane his way up to the Taco Bell counter and order a cheeseburger and a coffee. Coffee will be ordered. No matter what time it is, no matter how hot it is outside.
  
  It gets even worse is when they travel in packs. Be on the lookout for the local retirement home’s bus or van outside. I’m dead serious. This is a fucking adventure for these people. If you see that shit outside your Burger King, it’s time to find somewhere else to eat lunch today my friend. Ok, then here’s what will happen. The idea of a value meal is lost on old people. The first thing they’re going to do is order their food. Which will be some ridiculous quantity, like one hamburger (plain of course), and a coffee.
  
  Even funnier is when they order that same hamburger with fries. At that point, the employee of your local fast-food joint will say “Would you like the meal?” Which we all know is going to save them money. Of course, they’ll say no. Now some employees will push the issue “You get a soda, and it’ll be less money.” At which point the geezer will say “No, I don’t want a soda.” Yeah, it’s funny, but let’s face it, we didn’t come here to laugh. We came to get two things: Food, (fast) and the fuck out. Oh and it’s not over by a long shot. The next thing Ingrid is going to do is pay for her meal with nothing but nickels and dimes. Money is money to these people, and they’re always looking for a way to unload change.
  
  You have, or had a grandmother right? Remember always getting coins from her? Yeah, you thought she was being nice. Not even. She was unloading her change on you like a bum harassing you in the Jack in the Box drive-through. So after she pays with the change, she’s going to take forever to move out of your way; or whoever is right behind her. THEN as if that’s not enough, she’ll more than likely move in the wrong direction to get her food.
  
  Finally, to cap it all off, she’ll ignore the person who gives her the food, and go back to the cashier, who’s now helping you, to ask for some ketchup (which is right behind her, at the condiment island, under the cleverly concealed 8 foot gigantic mother fucking sign that says “KETCHUP”). So to sum it all up these people are going to fuck you over five-fold. Steer clear!

• Trent Steel and Jane Glassceiling: Mr. and Mrs. Business. These people fucking suck. They have secretaries. They’re definitely used to giving orders. But for some reason they can’t seem to replicate their success at work in the fast-food ordering environment. They’re notorious for ordering all wrong like old people. Only money isn’t an object to them. It’s a guarantee they’re going to skip the McChicken, and go straight for the pricier Crispy Chicken Sandwich. That said, they’ll pay with a $100 dollar bill, and the whole fucking place will come to a standstill as a manager is called to the front, only to go back to the office to get change for it out of the bank. They think this is buying a fucking car; and they want all the options. Would you like cheese with that? Sure. Super-sized? Yep. Apple pies for desert? You bet! Make it four pies, Consuela! What a fucking winner. On top of all that, they’re more than likely on their cell phone, which is cause for an even bigger hold up while all of this joke of an order is going on. Shut the fuck up Max Power! I’m trying to get a goddamn 6 Piece here.

• Woody Allen. This guy or girl is about to be totally indecisive. These people are bit harder to spot because they come in different forms. They try to plan, but they end up just confusing themselves. The tell-tale signs are someone who keeps staring at the menu for the entire time they’re in line. Even to the point where you have to poke them to get them to scoot up in line. They’re totally stuck. Oh and don’t even get me started about their train of thought. It’s like a fucking house of cards. One gust of wind and the whole thing comes tumbling down. Let’s say you’re lucky enough that they make a decision before they hit the counter. That person is going to ask them if they want cheese on their burger, and the whole situation is going to go Code Blue. They’re going to start stammering, and reevaluating their take on life and the existence of extraterrestrials. It’s just bad news. You can just see the panicked look on their face when the “What kind of drink?” question comes up. Their head snaps frantically back and forth, trying in vain to find a list of available soft drinks in the sea of short Mexicans, and shouts of “No yelo!” and “Con queso!” Jesus Christ.

• Miss Daisy. You know who I’m talking about here. Those upper class white women who drive a Mercedes… a Mercedes… well shit, just the fact that they’re driving is bad enough. Don’t even get me started on women and driving, because neither of us has that long left to live. These people are one of my favorites to clown. First of all, they’re totally out of place at a fast food joint. They don’t do shit all day, because their husbands are bringing in six-digit salaries. They should be at some outdoor café sipping mocha lattes; extra tall. Nevertheless, here they are standing in line at McShizzalmaditch. You can tell they don’t know what the fuck they’re doing because like Trent Steel, they’ll order whatever the cashier suggests. That is, unless they’re one of those bony bitches who will order the cheeseburger without the patty. Yeah, you read that right: a cheeseburger without the meat. Which, the last time I checked, was a grilled cheese sandwich, but what do I know? Anyway, I’m getting sidetracked. The greatest part about Miss Daisy is that she’s white and rich. These two characteristics make her better than anybody else in the building. Oh, and just in case you were unsure if she knows this, she’ll remind everyone at every opportunity. The catch is, she’s hell-bent on demonstrating how non-racist she is. People like me, who aren’t really racist, don’t call attention to this fact. You just go on living your life. She’ll hold up the line by ordering slowly, using her ATM card to buy 6 bucks worth of lunch, and then tell the cashier he looks exactly like one of the 3 gardeners they have at her estate. If you’re not cracking up already, wait until she shows poor Miguel how much she appreciates his culture:
  
  “Thank you Ma’am, your order number is 154”
  “Gracias, Miguel!”
  
  HAHAHAHAHA. Gracias? Are you fucking kidding me? Way to go Miss Daisy! You deserve a mother fucking Nobel prize for that olive branch you just extended. If only Saddam and Osama could witness the kind of sisterhood you’re promoting here, the world would be such a sweet place.

Lesson 4 – Know Your Opponent

That’s right. It’s a jungle out there. We’ve discussed the problems with the other customers. Those guys are playing for the same side. Now we need to address the problem of the other team sucking. In this sport, you actually want the other team to be on their game. Otherwise, you’re not walking out the door with that coveted flame broiled trophy.

Here comes one of my patented breaks. I actually stopped writing this one day, and the continued the next day. Yeah. The internet is wonderful isn’t it? Furthermore, in that day that passed, I went to McDonalds again. All shitting aside. That’s how deep my dedication is to this cause. So let me tell you what I did. I mash up into the building, and I scope the place out. I’ve got Agnes and Earl on my 3. I’m quickly getting flanked by Mom, two kids, and a goddamn dog. That’s right. Apparently in Walnut Creek (the white washed, yuppie ass, upper class craptacular extravaganza that it is) you can just bring your fucking dog up in the establishment. It sure as shit wasn’t a seeing eye dog either. It seemed to me like the lady needed one though, because she sure was blind when her younger kid tried to play superman off the fucking highchair into the condiment island.

What the fuck people? I came in here to order a cardboard box full of Freedom Fries, (it’s my understanding that since the French won’t support us bombing the fuck out of Iraq, that we’re not to refer to the food as French Fries) with a Burger, and a Coke with no ice; and instead I’m getting my Mr. Rogers on by saving all kinds of random kids. Why the fuck should I really care? If little Billy wants to jump off the Grimace and Fry Kids highchair, then I should have let him. When he lands on the tile and splits his head open, then maybe mom will pay closer attention, plus I’d get to move up a slot in the line. But Nooooooooooo. Big P Funk here has to play hero (cue the Superman pose). Or so I thought. So I come with the “Hey lady….your kid is about to fall.” Do you know what this bitch did? Think about it. Take a guess. Got it? Wrong. She turned from the counter, looked at me, looked back, slowly got her change, and then meandered over to the highchair to “save” her child. In fucking fact, meandering would be like lining up a pinto and a funny car in a drag race compared to what this bitch was doing. I haven’t seen anything move that slow since I ask a waitress I know at Chili’s to bring me a drink.

I was all set to be totally furious, when I figured out that I was at the front of the line. FUCK! I didn’t even know what I wanted. Ah, but not to worry everybody. First, let’s assume that you were genuinely scared for me. We all know you weren’t. If there’s one person in life people love to see fail, it’s me. So, I’m sorry to disappoint you, because I came through in the clutch like Michael Jordan… before he retired. No, before he retired the first time. You know, before he sucked. Oh, I know, I know, he’s 40. He does suck now though. You don’t have to lie to kick it. So where was I? Oh yeah. Bam. I hit the counter. I have no plan. Check it out, because this is just how I do. “Hi, how are you?” Smooth, P. Way to buy some time by asking how she is.

Now mind you, I’m normally dead set against fraternizing with the employees, but sometimes slipping in a little informality is a nice change. It makes them feel human. Which they are, technically, regardless of their green card status.

In the split second it takes her to say “Fine.” I’m already all over the menu. I’m moving right past the pictures and looking at the prices. Bam, under $4. That’s my ticket.

It’s back to the basics. No more outside conversation. I have my eye on the prize.

“Number 8. No cheese. Coke, no ice. To go.”

Touch down. Michael Jordan wins the World Cup.

That’s how you handle the employees. No fancy orders. No unnecessary words. No fiddle fucking around. The number 8 is a McChicken, but you don’t say that. The shit on their screen has numbers. You give them numbers. It lines up. They’re going to ask if you want cheese. You squash that by saying no cheese. Then you order your drink. It’s the natural progression of the order. Don’t fuck with the order of the order. You’re dicking with tried and true sequences that I have perfected over years of trial and error. Don’t bother questioning it. Just take my word for it. It works. You don’t go to the ocean and tell it how to hold water. You just go there and get wet. I don’t know what that analogy means either, but trust me, my methods holds water. Ah, yeah… there’s the analogy. Good work Paul.

So, as I was saying, don’t make it harder than it has to be. It’s always Trent Steel, or some other fucking idiot who walks up and goes “Uh yeah… let me get the Big Mac Meal.” Mother fucker do you see anywhere on the menu that offers a “Big Mac Meal”. If you can find me where that’s written, I’ll buy your lunch for you. Because all I see is a big ass “1” printed up above the picture of a Big Mac with fries and a drink. You don’t go to the movies and say “Yeah can I a ticket for the movie with the gay bald guy who drives fast cars, directed by the Jew?” Damn right you don’t. That’s just not how it works. So I repeat, do not fuck with the system. Say it with me, “I will not fucketh upeth the system.” It fucks everybody up. Maybe you have time for that kind of shit, but I sure don’t. My cool ass has an IRC network, 3 AIM conversations, Kazaa, and 5 pieces of porn junk mail to get back to. Hot Horny Teens Waiting For Me?!? Why didn’t somebody tell me sooner!?

Lesson 5 – The Moral of the Story Is…

The moral of the story is that he who sticks face in fruit drink, gets punch in nose. There is also a secondary moral. The lesson learned here is that if you own a dog, and speak softly and carry a big stick, that dog will chase the stick if you throw it. Which in turn, leaves you vulnerable to attacks from other dogs, who aren’t interested in sticks at all. So put that in your pipe and smoke it. Ha ha ha. No seriously. Have you ever had an art teacher that said “Everyone can be an artist if they try.”? I’ll just go ahead and say that it’s not true. Yeah, that’s right. I’m sorry. Some of us just can’t draw. On the same token, some of us just can’t handle pressure. Others of us can’t communicate with the opposite sex. Still more of us are clumsy, crass, and/or rude. If you find yourself saying yes to any of these symptoms, call a 1-800 number that will offer help. Furthermore, if any of your symptoms can adversely affect the time it takes you to order food at lunch time, kindly GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY WAY!

Thank you.

Originally posted 4/1/2003 by Syber