This Is Why I Hate To Leave The Castle

I had to take the Spawn of Satan to football practice early today. I was hungry and since I will forever be traumatized from the motherfucking pizza debacle, I opted to treat myself with a Grilled Chicken Caesar Salad from somewhere that rhymes with McFonalds.

The drive-thru was wrapped around the fucking building, so I thought going in would be the right thing to do. Of fucking course, there is a lady in front of me that wanted to assure that her kids get that extra fifty fucking cents an hour when landing a job, all because they can count.

When she ordered her damn McNuggets and fries I sighed in relief. It took her five minutes to decide on the type of fucking dipping sauce they wanted, but, please, take your sweet fucking time lady.

"Oh, my daughter wants a shake." She gazed down at the youngest spawn. "Go ahead, Susie."

Shit.

Shit shit motherfucking shit.

"I want a shake. A pink one," Susie declared. The elderly cashier looked positively orgasmic with delight. Well, roll me in fucking sugar and call me goddamn cookie, isn't that fucking precious.

"That will be ONE DOLLAR, AND EIGHTEEN CENTS!" the cashier hollered. Because we all know that if you don't understand the math? Shout. No speaka dee English? Shout. If The Dutchess has a migraine? Shout.

"Ok." Susie whipped out her Hannah Montana coin purse and with her tongue poking out, began counting out pennies.

jesus christ on a cupcake, someone fucking gut me and cover me in bleach. It will be less painful.

"And eighteen cents!" Susie squealed, after what seemed like an hour. The entire line behind her breathed a collective sigh of relief.

As I inched forward, using that "breathe down your neck so you'll move faster" mentality, the mother spoke.

"Now, your turn, Julie."

Oh, HELL TO THE NO. Somebody better get that little bitch a tissue because she's about to be upset when I tell her the shake machine is OUT OF MOTHERFUCKIN ORDER.

I intervened. "Ma'am, no offense, but could the rest of us order and pay? And then little Janie-"

"Julie."

"Whatever, she can count out pennies till doomsday."

"We were here first."

I was stumped.

The cashier still had the stupid smile on. "ONE DOLLAR AND EIGHTEEN-!"

"We can all hear you, Grammy. Me, them, the next county over. No need to shout," the man behind me said. I think I fell a little in love with him.

"Oh, well, just so cute, learning to count-"

"Darling. Super. Moving right along. Julie? Shall we?" I flapped my hand at her. She turned and began the painstakingly slow task of counting more fucking pennies.

I turned to the man. "What the hell is with the twelve dollars in pennies? Did they lose all their dollars at the strip joint?" He looked at me as if I were an alien. Meh, wouldn't have worked out, anyway. He was shorter than me and obviously had no sense of fucking humor.

"There!" Julie cried triumphantly.

"Yes! Awesome! Good job, Julie! High five! Here's a dollar for next time!" I crowed.

"Don't take the dollar, Julie. Go on. Go over there with Daddy and tell Kimberley to come here."

Kimberley? What. The. Fuck?

As we all stood dumbstruck, all of us, then an older girl came over.

"Kim, order and pay for your shake," Mom said.

The cashier beamed. "Yes, that's-"

"One eighteen, Kim. Time's a wastin'," I said.

We all had faith in Kim. She must have been at least ten. Old enough to have dollar bills, surely. Right?

As Kim opened her purse, we all held our breath. The group leaned forward for a better view of her coin purse and there were cheers and hugs all around when she pulled out a crumpled one dollar bill.

She laid this on the counter and then looked at the coins uncertainly.

"Eighteen cents," I offered helpfully. The mom shot me a nasty glare.

Kim pulled out two dimes. Fuck Yes!

"No, honey, that's twenty. You need eighteen," Mom said.

I almost had a motherfucking aneurysm. "She'll get two pennies back! She can pass them on to the younger ones! They love pennies!" I sputtered.

"I'm trying to teach them correct change!" Mom snapped.

Kim looked concerned. "It's okay, honey," I said. "it's nothing you did."

Kim turned back to the change. She reached for the dime and looked up at her Mom. Seeing the okay, she put that back in her coin purse. She then slowly withdrew a nickel and placed that on the counter.

"Good!" Mom said. "That's fifteen. Now, what do you need?"

Kim chewed on her bottom lip. I slapped my hand to my goddamn forehead. The man began praying to the Virgin Mary and the cashier was loudly whispering, "3! 3 cents, honey!"

Kim pulled out another nickel and we all fucking groaned. She put it back. She reached for the dime on the counter and I inwardly screamed, "Holy shit! It's one eighteen! A dollar and eighteen fucking cents! Your sisters know it! Mom knows it! A brain damaged monkey missing three goddamn toes could figure it out! I just want my MOTHERFUCKING SALAD!"

She slowly counted out eight pennies, making eye contact with her mother each time she placed a penny down and smartly closing her purse when the deed was done. She got her shake and off they went, these mavens of the goddamn accounting world.

I stepped forward. "Shit. I need a Chicken Caesar Salad and a large-"

"Oh, dear," the cashier frowned. "Oh dear, oh my."

"What?"

"She gave me too much money, by four cents. If she's going to learn-"

"Mabel. It is Mabel, right? 90 percent of the goddamn free world can't count and that's why we have these lovely machines that spit your goddamn change back at you. If you so much as think about calling them back here and starting that dog and fucking pony show again, I will toss you in the goddamn fryer."

Do I even need to tell you that they gave me the wrong goddamn salad?