Mark Tufo - A Plague Upon Your Family

“Sir how may I help you?” Don asked. Doing his best to hold on to what little remained of his dignity.

I’m not proud of some of the things I have done in my life. You could count this encounter as one of them. I am one of those people that is quick to anger and then let slide something that should have never left my brain to begin with. Quick to react, slow to think. Unfortunately this was something my Nicole had picked up on early in life. She would scream bloody murder and I would come running. Justin usually became the hapless victim in this game as I would punish him before I even knew what was going on. If my daughter wrote that story she could probably call it, ‘The Manipulation of Michael Talbot’. And then the worst part of this whole affair would be the swallowing of my pride and then admitting to my son that I was wrong. This was a shortcoming that had been a work in progress with me for years. That day I slid a long way back down the progress path.

Maybe it was the way he looked so pathetic, like he had already given up, that made me act the way I did. Maybe it was a baser evolutionary thing like the strong dominating the weak. I’m not saying I was right or trying to justify my actions, I’m just making an observation. You can be the judge if you want. But remember, I had just lost my job, my wife was pissed at me, it was 102 degrees out, Samir and his partner in crime Becka had conspired to make my trip to a fast food restaurant into an epic adventure worthy of any M. Night Shyamalan movie. I had ketchup half way up my pants. My expensive shoes were ruined. A giant fat lady wanted to eat me. I had just witnessed the singular most disgusting culinary experience in my life and now Don the Defeated was going to champion my cause? I think not.

All of this was going through my head as I formulated my reply to Don. “Fuck you!” Yep that’s how I started off. Proud? Not a chance. Don’s demeanor dipped even a little farther, but I thought I caught a glimpse of something else. I think my words sparked a flame of defiance in him.

“Sir?” He asked incredulously. Don’s day had been shit thus far, but I was the first to cross the usually uncrossable unseen civilized barrier.

I knew in my heart of hearts that ‘fuck you’ was as inappropriate a response as I could go with, except maybe something about his mother. But again my emotions were ruling my higher functioning. So when I told him to ‘Go fuck himself!’ I had once again taken a giant step against mankind. I’ll give it to the guy though he wasn’t quite ready to throw the towel in yet and step down into the primordial soup with me.

“Sir, if you could just please keep your voice down and keep the language more appropriate I think we can resolve whatever problem you may be having.”

At this point my loftier self was actually able to step away from the situation and take a more objective look at what was happening here. Some ketchup stained guy, that appears to have just smoked some bad crack comes into a family oriented restaurant throwing profanity around like a hooker throws pussy around at a dentist convention. That Don hadn’t gone screaming into the rear of the store looking for a weapon was a testament to his inner strength, OR more likely I wasn’t the first person that had come in after dealing with the dynamic duo of dipshits at the drive thru.

His words were actually having the desired effect. He had not escalated the confrontation. The more time he was giving me to reflect on my actions the better able I was to bridle my mental state, such as it was. I actually might have been able to salvage this encounter, if Becka’s pimply-faced countenance hadn’t taken this inopportune time to peek out from her workstation.

“Oh shit Tonya. The half-wit came in the store! You should see his clothes, he looks like he’s eaten but couldn’t tell exactly where his mouth was. I know right?’ She laughed. “He’s got ketchup all down his legs! It’s hilarious, Tonya. Hold on I’m going to take a picture and send it to you.”

Becka began to walk out from behind her work window, her phone lining up to take my most unflattering photograph since the DMV.

“Becka.” Don began. “Don’t you have some work you could be doing?”

‘Oh please’ her expression dripped. The sour look did little to dissuade Becka from her present course of action. I was too shocked to do anything as Becka took not one but three pictures of me. I heard that at least two of them ended up on the internet.

Don and I both shared a moment of commiseration as we stared at the retreating form of the laughing Becka. “I’m sending it now Tonya, let me know when you get it! GET OUT!” She shrieked. “Bobby Ricci asked you out!” The rest of the stimulating teenage-ese dialog was lost to us, as Don and I again resumed our parley.

“You could start helping me, by firing her.” I pointed vehemently to where the demon spawn had retreated.

“She’s the best of the last seven people I’ve had working there” Don answered me back, his tone laced with dejection.

And like that the heat of my anger ebbed, Don was as much if not more of a victim in this whole affair than I was. He had been dealing with irate customers seemingly his entire professional life.

“Samir.” One of the fry cooks shouted from behind us. “What the hell is a fried salad wrap with M&M’s?”

Don put his hands over his face. If he had access to anything sharper than a plastic butter knife I think he would have taken the opportunity to perform hari-kari on himself.

I wanted this encounter to be over with and out of here before it got any more bizarre. Sometimes I amaze myself with my flashes of prophecy. “Listen.” I said hopefully. “I just want to get my order and get out of here.” Don didn’t respond, I somehow took that as a good sign. “Ok.” I said nervously licking my lips. “I’d like to get two quarter pounders with cheese meals, a crispy chicken sandwich meal, two big Mac meals, and the two cheeseburger meal with extra pickles. Oh yeah and all of them with coke is fine.” Don still hadn’t moved, not to even put my order into the not-so-idiot proof picture laden register. At first I was sort of impressed that he would have the ability to memorize my whole order. Still nothing was happening. “Don?” I asked cautiously.

“YOU WANT! YOU WANT! What the fuck about what I want!” He screamed. The entire restaurant stopped and stared, even the nearly useless work staff. “You think I want to manage a bunch of zit pocked, hormone infused, spoiled brats that would rather be at home jerking off than making an honest living? And do you think I can get any of them to wash their hands after they’re in the bathroom for a half an hour doing God knows what?” I heard distant retching as one of the customers realized what they might be eating. One of the sandwich assemblers laughed out loud as he realized that he had just been called out. I noticed with disdain, the nearly full box of sani-gloves next to his workstation that were going completely unused.

Customers began to leave in droves as if they could sense the oncoming explosion, why had my prophetic self picked this time to desert. Of my entire order why he focused on this part I’ll never know.

“You want some extra fucking pickles!” He yelled.

I nodded dumbly. Eyes wide open along with my gaping mouth.

“I’ve got your fucking extra pickles right here!”

I can’t express to you how relieved I was when he didn’t pull his pants down and expose his ‘male pickle’ to me. My respite was short lived though as he picked up a ten pound jar of pickle slices and began to hum handfuls of the tangy sandwich slices at me. I stood dumbfounded as the rippled briny preserves slapped against my entire body, I guess I should be glad they were the sandwich slice variety as opposed to the spears. (Poor joke, I know but how much further into absurdity could I travel.) I walked out of the store under a hail of fire, slices stuck to my face, neck and head. The sun began to instantly brown them as I dazedly strode to my car. I cannot recall the rest of the ride home. It wasn’t until I walked in the back door and Tracy ‘greeted’ me, that the day began to come back into focus.