I realized recently that I am truly good at so many things…and get paid for absolutely none of them.
For instance, I’m excellent at choosing the wrong line. Oh, some people may be skilled at this particular ability while visiting the grocery store to which I say: amateur! Me on the other hand — well, not to toot my own horn, but here lays remarkable talent I tell you.
I’m on top of my game in all sorts of venues — the grocery store, the gas station, the library check-out, the carnival ride, the train, the cab kiosk, even the McDonald’s. Yes, the McDonald’s.
Our McDonald’s has a new double lane drive-thru, it was just renovated…and I kid you not, it makes no difference which one I pull into, something, anything, will cause it to be delayed. The car in front of me may be purchasing 15 of everything off the menu, but not stating their demand in any sort of order whatsoever or with any sense of hurry. Hell, sometimes they have to phone home just to confirm they’ve got it right. “Hey, I’m here at the McDonald’s now. You want onions on that McDouble? No? You sure? Oh no, no rush, it’s not like people are waiting in line or anything. Take your time. It’s an important decision.” Or perhaps the person taking the order decided to take a break. They say “I’ll be right with you,” but then they never are; likely they’re distracted by indoor customers or the constant barrage of impossible multi-tasking that’s required in their position. Or maybe they’re new. Or just can’t work the machine to get the order to come up just right. It makes no difference. The end result is the same. It’s no longer fast food. I don’t blame the workers, their life is hard enough, and I don’t envy them their jobs. At. All.
It’s me. I’m the line delayer. That’s my job. And I’m good at my job. Damn good.