I'm a bit of the night-owl. I know most of the late-shift drive-thru people for on my side of town, plus I've got intimate knowledge of what's open when, where and the quickest way back to my bedsit. I've got no pity for idiot teenagers who think they're "special unique snowflakes" - seriously. Get off the phone, quit texting and get a clue. All this leads up to an episode of monumental stupidity and teen howler monkey petulance witnessed at a Wendy's last week.
The dining room is CLOSED. Even though the sign says the dining room is open until midnight and it is only 10:45 p.m., the DOOR IS LOCKED. People are cleaning up inside. My friends and I, we walked up, read the hours, tried the handle, realized it was closed, saw there were no customers eating inside, turned around and went through the drive-thru. No big honking deal.
Not so for bratty teenager with serious entitlement issues and the gum-smacking girlfriend. *important detail*
The car ahead of us has *issues* with their order. I can see this woman with about eight howler monkeys (the factory must have shipped extra this month, I seem to have been surrounded) in her LandCruiser banging on the second drive-thru window and then arguing with the girl. Then there's another bout with the manager wearing a headset. Then some money being exchanged.
So we sit in line for like forever. And get a ringside seat for major fun.
A convertible BMW (must be daddy's, on loan for the summer) screeches around the cars lined up at the drive-thru and two upper-crust tupes get out. Seriously, we heard rubber burn.
They park in a puddle and Princessa grimaces as she gets her delicate toes wet. She's wearing a white skirt and a pinkish baby-doll crop top and for good measure has a sweater tied around her waist. A sweater. In the middle of July. She looks like she hasn't eaten in months.
Boy Genius has the generic upper middle class uniform of long khaki shorts, sandals and an A&F t-shirt. They both have posture that would send any finishing school teacher rolling in her grave.
They tramp up to the door. I'm positively glowing with anticipation.
They yank the door handle. Obviously, being locked, it doesn't open. Boy Genius and Princessa read the hours and yank the door again. It still doesn't open.
They put their hands and faces on the glass and look inside. Then look back at the hours and yank the door again. Shocker. Still won't open. Princessa looks bored with the whole thing and leans up against the railing by the door. She's posing for a fashion shoot. Give me more "I don't care. Good. Now more 'bored and stupid.' Bueno. Que bellisima." She's got the disinterested model thing down stone cold.
Boy Genius pounds the glass. Then runs around to the other side - thinking that maybe the door there will be open. It must not be, because he comes right back. He yanks on the door again, pounds the glass some more and we can see him yelling and pointing at the sign with the hours.
Princessa is still lolling vapidly on the railing. She obviously doesn't care. She'll eat like one fry (no salt) and have a diet water with diet lemon, thanks very much.
But Boy Genius obviously wants a Baconator and a Frosty, because he slams both palms on the door again and decides to try to yank the door open one more time. NEWSFLASH - Still not open.
Princessa starts walking back to the car. He yells at her.
SHE TAKES THE GUM OUT OF HER MOUTH, GIVES IT TO HIM, AND HE STICKS IT IN THE LOCK.
Ewww. Just eww.
*If you see children misbehaving, slap them across the face that they might learn to behave in public. --Book 2, The Gospel of the Howler Monkey