Canada… Kind Of Just Happens

(Brockville is just half an hour across the Saint Lawrence Seaway from Albany, New York, but the nearest border crossing for vehicles is almost an hour away,  This is approximately one am on a Saturday night drive-thru shift in August.)

Me: “Welcome to [Restaurant]. How may I help you?”

Customer: *obviously inebriated* “What country am I in?”

Me: *thinking I am being pranked* “I’m sorry, what was that?”

Passenger: *in the same car, also inebriated*  “What country is this?”

Me: “Canada. Can I take your order?”

Customer: “Canada? F*** ! Are you sure?”

Me: “Yes, sir, this is Canada. Would you like to order?”

Passenger: “S***. Yeah, get me a cheeseburger, medium fries, and Sprite. Canada, f***!”

Customer: “We don’t have f****** time to eat!” *to me* “Get me a Coke, large onion rings, and a bacon cheeseburger!  Are you sure this is Canada?”

Me: “Yep, this is Canada. What would you like on your burgers?”

Customer: “You’re not f****** with me, are you?”

Me: “No, I’m sure this is Canada. What would you like on your burgers?”

Passenger: “Ketchup, mustard—”

Customer: *interrupting* “I told you we don’t have time to eat if we’re in f****** Canada!” *to me* “I want ketchup and onions.”

Passenger: “If you can f****** eat, so can I. ‘Sides, we can eat in the car, a**hole.” *to me* “I want ketchup, mustard, onions, and extra peppers. We’re really the h*** in Canada?”

Me: “Yes, you are really in Canada! Your total comes to [total].”

(I’m biting my lip trying not to laugh. They drive through to the window.)

Me: “Hi. Your total is [total]; would you like ketchup for your fries and onion rings?”

Customer: “You’re not f****** kidding, are you? This is really Canada?!”

Me: “I’m not kidding. I was born here and I am positive that this is Canada. Would you like ketchup?”

Passenger: “H***, give me the ketchup, since we’re in f****** Canada!”

(I’m taking really deep breaths trying not to laugh, and I’m now also trying to figure out what being in Canada has to do with wanting ketchup on fries.)

Customer: “Do you take American dough?” *under breath* “How the h*** are we in f****** Canada!”

Me: “Yes, we take American money at [percentage], so your total is [total].”

Passenger: “S***. You’re an a**hole!” *hiccups, looks at me, collecting the money* “Oops, not you; he’s the f****** idiot. You’re pretty!”

Me: “Thank you! Here are your food and your change. Enjoy!”

Customer: “How the h*** am I supposed to do that? We’re in f****** Canada?”

(They speed off, leaving me with my head sticking out the drive-thru window trying to get enough air to breathe as I am laughing so hard. Five minutes later, I finally collect myself enough to get back to work, and as I head into the back, I hear my manager call me in a raspy voice. As I enter the office, I see she is still bent over in her chair at the desk with tears on her cheeks.)

Manager: “Are you sure we’re in Canada?”