Sometimes it's just the thought that counts.
First up, I'm a wee bit of a food snob. Nothing over the top and nothing I shove up other peoples's noses - its just that I have principles re: food; and fast food is very much against those principals. That said....
Sometimes, maybe 3 or 4 times a year, nothing else will *do* but some hideously delicious KFC. I know it will make me feel sick afterwards and make my whole throat feel like I deep-throated a grease-trap...but, dammit! That crunchy salty chookiness is, well, I'm sure the majority of you know what I'm talking about.
Anyhoo, given my obvious conflicts regarding my guilty pleasure, it would follow that my mood is somewhat ~combustive~ when I climb down from my ivory tower and duck into the chicken joint.
One such memorable occasion, I pull into a drive-thru' on my way home from uni. And the queue is loooong. I'm already having second thoghts about sitting there and sucking exhaust fumes when this utter fucknuckle in an earth-hating ford F250 complete with cnuting CARAVAN (Australia is littered with these twats. 'Grey Nomads' they call themselves, cruising the beauty spots of the country, towing their dreary cliches with bumper stickers that proclaim 'I'm driving my children's inheritance!' Baby Boomers are selfish cocks.) decides that he has to absolutely join the queue IN FRONT OF ME.
Seriously.
Queue jumping in a freaking drive-thru lane! I briefly toyed with brazening it out and trying to out-manouver him..but he was possessed with a large fuck-off roo bar on his front end and I drive a wee small 2 door mitsubishi. Eyeballing me and sneering with his overfed, over-made up, smug slapperwifey laughing beside him while I helplessly (but rudely!) gestured and beeped my squeaky little horn he just kept nudging in...
Right.
Fuck this and fuck HIM.
So I peeled out of the queue, parked up, and actually entered the store. What a weird experience! The queue of cars outside in the drive-thru' had to be at least 15 cars(and one cnuting caravan)long, but the store itself was empty. Hah! I win! I place my order, get my grease and am out the door *just* as CaravanPig has pulled past the little box where you are required to scream over the static and place your order. Where the the lane closes in as it passes the neighbouring building. Where escape is no longer an option. Where there are still a good 7 cars in line before you.
I knew what needed to be done.
Swinging my bag of goodies in a carefree manner, I smiled and waved to the person in the the drive-thru' window. I didn't know them and they didn't know me, mind, we'd had no interaction at all, but hey, Perth is a friendly city and they politely waved and smiled back. so it looked like I knew them. It looked like we might be in cahoots...perhaps sharing a joke :D
Sauntering down beside the cars in the drive-thru' I stop at CaravanKnobEnd's petrol wasting penis extension and, smiling gently, tap on his window. He lowers it about 10 cms or so and snarls "Yair? Whawt?"('coz he is an arrogant arse) I grin sweetly ('coz I'm made of fucking sugar and spice) and say "WE didn't spit in your food. Honest!" And then i got into my wee car, waved and smiled once more and drove away.
I hope he enjoyed his repast. I certainly enjoyed mine, but felt a bit ill after. As usual.
(St Sepulchre's Belle tolled for thee on, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 10:52, 1 reply)

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perth drivers are pricks. which KFC was it?
(jubilantjeremy yes please, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 14:06, closed)