Tonight, I went out to see a movie.  I was by myself, at 10:30, on a Sunday night.  Other than a few employees wondering around, I was the only person walking across the lobby of the 22-screen theater.  I see a massive concession counter, probably 60 feet wide, and one employee standing behind it chewing on his fingernails.  I want to order something, but from the looks of the fat, pimply faced guy behind the counter, I begin to contemplate whether my encounter with dipshit will be worth the treats or not.

Eventually, I decide to approach the counter.  I hate it when people at counters like this ask me what I want when I haven’t even seen my options yet.  That’s why I make it a point to stand as far away from the counter as possible, and avoid eye contact so the employee will take the hint that I’m still trying to figure out what I want, since up until 3 seconds ago I had not seen the menu.  It never fails… I’m standing a good 50 feet away from the counter, looking at the menu over pimple face’s head for a total of 3 seconds when he shouts out to me, “What can I get for you?!”  I cringe, and my eye twitches a little.  Then I yell back, “I’m still looking at the menu!  Thanks!”  Dipshit goes back to chewing his fingernails. 

30 seconds later I decide I want a pizza and a coke.   I walk up to the counter, and order it.  Then the conversation goes something like this…

Me:  I want a pepperoni pizza and a regular coke.

Fat Ass:  Do you want to make that a combo?

Me:  Well, what’s the combo?

Fat Ass:  Uh, a pizza and a coke. 

Me:  Isn’t that what I ordered?

Fat Ass:  Yeah, I was just checking.

Me:  Checking what?  What’s the difference?

Fat Ass:  Well, it’s cheaper if it’s a combo.

Me:  Okay, so my options are either you charge me for my pizza and coke separately and I pay more… OR… you ring it up as a combo and I pay less.  SO, you were essentially giving me a choice to pay more or pay less for the exact same thing?  Why would I want to pay more?

Fat Ass:  Uh, yeah, I just thought you would like the combo.

Me:  Yes.   Make it a combo.  Please.

The logic train left that fat bastard sitting at the station, but I try to mask my disdain so as not to piss off the retard handling my food.  At this point he puts a pizza in the oven.  While my pizza is cooking he stands there chewing on his fingernails and staring at the floor.  What could possibly be ticking away in his head is beyond me.  It takes a full two minutes for the pizza to cook.  I’m thinking that in this time, he could have poured my fucking coke and I could have paid him for the food.  Instead, he just sits there like a blob of shit chewing on his nails.  When the pizza is done, he takes it out and puts it in a box.  Then he waddles over to the register where I’m standing, which is next to the coke machine.

Fat Ass:  What did you want to drink again?

Me:  A coke.

Fat Ass:  Okay.

Fat ass fumbles with the cash register, trying to figure out how to ring everything up.  All two items that make up my “combo.”  After a couple of minutes, and my blood pressure going through the roof, he says again…

Fat Ass:  Uh, I’m sorry… I forgot what did you want to drink again?

Me:  A coke.

Fat Ass:  Oh, yeah, sorry, okay…

At this point I’m envisioning wrapping my hands around his cubby little neck and squeezing it until all the pimples on his chubby face pop and puss oozes out of every pore.  I’m absolutely livid but I try to keep it on the inside, because of rule #1:  Never fuck with the people who handle your food.  Even the people who deserve it.

Finally, he tells me my total.  I hand him cash, and it takes him another minute or two to count my change.  Then he FINALLY pours my damn coke.  I get my shit and go into the theater.  And pimple butt goes back to chewing his nails.  Thank God the previews are so long, because I didn’t miss the beginning of the movie, but I was close.