One Burger With a Side Of Therapy, Please

(It’s my cousin’s birthday and to celebrate, I take her and a few of my siblings out to a local fast food place. They’re really young. The drive-thru is slammed, and the kids say they want to eat inside. We go in and get in line. In front of me is a man taking up the manager’s and cashier’s attention, by yelling and cursing at them for making his food wrong.)

Manager: “Sir, we’ve remade your food three times now.”

Customer: “Then you’d better make it right this time!”

Manager: “No, I’ve already wasted enough time on you!”

Customer: “I’m not leaving until I get my d*** order!”

(The manager takes his receipt and tells the kitchen precisely what is on the receipt, even jumping into the kitchen to help out. The customer turns to me and says:)

Customer: “Can you believe these people? Demanding fifteen dollars an hour to f*** up our orders three times?”

(I can’t help but say:)

Me: “Well, they’ll need it in order to afford the therapy for putting up with people like you.”

(The other customers and some of the employees laugh, and my siblings and cousin all yell “burn!” The guy grabs his wrong order off the counter and storms out of the restaurant, but not before calling me a few degrading names.)

Cashier: “I am so sorry about that, miss.”

Me: *shrugging* “It’s not your fault.”

(The manager came forward — still laughing — and apologized to the entire restaurant for having to deal with the customer. I was offered free desserts for my comeback, which was a nice gesture.)