I really wish HIPAA laws weren’t so touchy about revealing patient information, like names and such. Because I? Would really like to write open letters to my, ahem, favorite customers and post them on my blog.
Dear Guy In Drive Thru: I know you love your extended cab truck, in all of its fierce chromed glory…even though it only gets seven miles per gallon and ten baby seals are clubbed every time you start it, but could you PLEASE turn the fucking thing OFF so I can hear you when you’re trying to speak to me? I’m a pretty amazing woman, but my talents do not include hearing you over the deafening rumble of that unnecessary V8. Really? You deserve a cock-punch.
Hey Doctor? Your penmanship should be banned in all fifty states. Really, would it kill you to write legibly? Or better yet, invest in the whole e-scribe system. It would make my job easier, meaning less calls to “clarify” your atrocious handwriting. Seriously, look into it.
Working the drive-thru is shitty, no matter what your job is. McDonald’s drive-thru must be soul crushing, but Walgreens isn’t much better. Especially when being stuck there for four hours at a time. Fortunately, my time there today wasn’t ALL assholes. It was merely punctuated by the occasional douchebag, like the vile and much hated dragon-headed she-beast. Every time I encounter her–always, always in drive-thru–I want to toss a vat of battery acid in her immediate direction. She? Is a cunt.
I don’t really hate my job. Generally, I like it, but (like anything else) it has its moments. At least I know that a cheeseburger at the end of the day heals most–but not all–things.
