Memoirs Of An Evil Genius: We Don't Want YOUR Fries With That, Bitch!

February 22, 2008

We Don't Want YOUR Fries With That, Bitch!

So today is my birthday. No, no -- don't get up! I appreciate it, but really the applause is unnecessary. I am OLD today, though. OLD. Well, old-er. Old enough that if I were a famous actor I would start getting parts like "Single Father" and shit. Well, maybe not me. I would get parts like "Single Mother's Gay Best Friend", and I'd just be the catty, dishy guy who works with her at her interior design firm, and I'd be featured in the expository scenes where she's gushing on and on about the guy she met through her friend, and he's soooo beautiful (and he'd be played by Ashton Kutcher or some other such predictably affable comedian), and then I'd have to sigh and say shit like, "Oh, Susan (Drew Barrymore NO DOUBT,) you are so lucky!" and I'd have to act like I hate her for being so lucky, but really I'm so happy because she's my bestest friend and I know how broken up she's been since her husband died in that freak accident two years before. And then there'd be a series of miscommunications between her and Ashton and she'd think he was a deadbeat, or a gigolo, or a con man, or something like that, and I'd be featured in a series of split-screen phone conversations where I'm in a bubble bath or something equally fey until FINALLY all is settled in the end and the young lovers waltz off into the sunset and everyone wonders, "HEY? WHAT ABOUT THE GAY BEST FRIEND?"

So last weekend, Ulrich and Argyle and I had a night on the town. Old-school. I mean, we got SHITFACED. Like, we drank...and then we drank some more...and then we drank some more, and THEN we decided to go to the bar, where we drank and drank and drank, and some dude tried to pick up Argyle (but he wasn't good at it, so he and his wingmen picked up ALL of us to get to her), and then the three of us stumbled home drunkenly but happily. This is where the DRAMA begins.

We wanted chili fries. You cannot get chili fries at any of the fast food places in our neighborhood. So we had to go to the grocery store and buy chili and cheese, and then walk down to McDonald's at 2:30am to get fries. But the place is closed after, like, midnight, and we had to go through the drive-thru. Except that we were on foot. So picture me and Argyle standing between cars -- PATIENTLY -- waiting to get to the window. (They wouldn't acknowledge us at the speaker, you see.) We finally get up there and ask for two orders of fries, and the manager comes up and gets ALL IN OUR FACES and says, "We don't have time for this!"

I'm all, "Listen, I'm offering you money -- I just want two orders of fries." And she repeats, "WE DON'T HAVE TIME FOR THIS!" For what? Walking over to the heat lamp and picking up two things of French fries? Because seriously, that doesn't take long. So the three of us get into this EXTREME DEBATE at 2:30 in the morning about what exactly is going on here, until I snapped out, "I am offering you my money for your product, and you are refusing it! You are saying you do not want my money!" And she says (try to guess) "WE DON'T HAVE TIME FOR THIS!" And Argyle barked out something pithy and we stomped off.

But we did not stomp with our tails between our legs. Oh no! We marched RIGHT BACK to the apartment, got in Argyle's car, DROVE BACK TO MCDONALD'S (at 3:00am), ordered our French fries, waited in the drive-thru line, got to the window, and then Argyle leaned over and shouted, "Oh! I'm sorry -- we forgot! YOU DON'T WANT OUR MONEY!" and then drove off at 1780mph, all the way over to the Carl's Jr. next door so we could wait in the drive-thru for another fifteen minutes to get our fries. FOR WHICH WE GLADLY PAID.

We had briefly considered ordering two of every item on the menu at McDonald's before driving off, but it's not like they can't get your license plate number a million times while you're waiting.

Anyway, this is why we will NEVER EAT THERE AGAIN. And you should not either. Don't let anyone ever tell you not to do things just on principle, because it was the most awesome fun we have ever had.

February 22, 2008 in A Few Of My Least Favorite Things, Friends: God's Way of Saying "You're Welcome", Holidays, Interludes, Soap Box Derby, Stop Before I Kill You | Permalink

Comments

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

You SO should have ordered, like, three soft serve cones with your fries so that when you bailed on them, they would have been stuck with those things getting all melty.

Posted by:Catherine | February 22, 2008 at 08:40 PM

Book 'Em, Dr. No

Dean Koontz: Intensity
Suspenseful and unnerving, this book suffers from only two minor flaws. While Koontz's purple prose lends itself well to description and rumination, it does no favors for the scattered bits of dialog in this otherwise well-written tale. Additionally, after a crashingly good horror story with genuine moments of real introspection, the final denouement seems trite and preachy. Overall, though, an exciting read.
Joanne Harris: Gentlemen and Players
My one complaint about Joanne Harris is that her protagonists tend to be abrasive and unlikeable. Not so here, which is possibly her best to date -- our hero is one of the most enjoyable characters she's developed yet; even the villain has a cunning appeal, and Harris pits the two narratives against each other, ratcheting the suspense as she slowly brings things to a boil.
Mary Roberts Rinehart: The Door
This complex and atmospheric mystery, published in 1930, is the genesis of a well-known phrase - which I can't reveal without ruining the twist ending. Suffice it to say that Rinehart is a very clever writer, although she relies heavily on a device throughout this book where she forecasts all major plot points and then doubles back to develop them, flashback-style. The herky-jerk nature of this style dampens some of the mounting suspense, but it's an engrossing read overall.
Janet Evanovich: Visions of Sugar Plums
My mother is a woman obsessed with Janet Evanovich, and she has been insisting for years that I read her interstitial novellas. This is the first, and it's a cute, breezy Christmas tale. There's a supernatural element that wasn't my cup of tea -- too much peanut butter in my chocolate -- but if you're a fan of Evanovich, you'll like it.
John Buchan: The Thirty-Nine Steps
A brisk and engaging spy thriller, this novella - the source material for Hitchcock's famous film - barely exceeds 100 pages. It strains credibility a bit, but it's still a fun read, and although the Georgian era references and colloquialisms are sometimes hard to follow, a glossary of terms (!) at the back of the book does help.
James E. McWilliams: A Revolution in Eating: How the Quest for Food Shaped America
An excellent book, especially if you're interested in culinary anthropology or American cultural, social, geographical, or political history. The author charts the evolution of regional American cuisine from colonial times to the Revolution.
Janet Evanovich: Metro Girl
Typical of Evanovich's style - this is light, easy, and fun; a good summertime book. Perhaps a bit too stylistically similar to her Stephanie Plum series, but if it ain't broke...
Heather Graham: The Seance
So bad. SO. BAD. Just...just so bad.
David Kamp: The United States of Arugula: How We Became a Gourmet Nation
An authoritative and compellingly-written look at the rise of gourmet cuisine in the American culture, charting it from Le Pavillon to Chez Panisse to Whole Foods. It will make you want to cook, y'all. For reals.
James Patterson: 1st to Die: A Novel
A recommendation from my mother -- she's hooked. I thought it was good, but Patterson's blunt, staccato writing style took some getting used to. Still, if you like procedurals, it's an effective diversion.