Hey, stupid! The fucking menu doesn't change from state to state, let alone city to city! If they have Big Macs in Omaha, they sure as shit have them in Tucson and they taste exactly the same!

Of course, some nitpick will chime in by stating that sometimes the menu does, indeed, vary from one location to the next, even by the time of year. Take St. Patrick's Day, for example, and the green milkshake. But these are exceptions to the rule. The menu remains largely intact.

I don't know how many times I'd be standing there at the register, sighing audibly, waiting on a dingbat secretary on her lunch break as she taxed her noodle trying to decide what to shove down her gullet. And the burgers, by and large, run along the same theme, varying primarily in the paper in which they are wrapped. Aside from the special sauce, there isn't much difference between a Big Mac and a Quarter Pounder, when you look between the buns.

Then we'd have the soccer moms trot in with their children and, in order to let little Timmy or Sally feel all grown up, would allow them to decide what they would like to order. Naturally, this meant standing there for a LONG time waiting for the little sonofabitch to make up their fucking mind. And mom was never a big help, always asking me what's in one burger or another.

"Onions give little Johnny gas. How much onion is on a cheese burger?"

Lady, I don't give a crap about your kid's medical maladies. Just order a goddamn Happy Meal and be done with it so we can all get back to our lives. Scrape the goddamn onions off the burger, if his goddamn gas is that foul. NEXT!

I never said that, but God, there were times when I wanted to in the worst way.

Old people were pretty bad, too. I don't know what it is about rainy days and fish sandwiches, but old farts go nutty for fish when it rains. And that's no joke, either. Our managers always had the cooks prepare extra fish sandwiches on rainy days. UFO's always land in trailer parks and the geriatric crowd goes berserk for fish when it rains. God (and possibly the CIA) only know why.

You'd think these old fossils wouldn't be very savvy, seeing as how they're always being suckered into handing over their life's savings to one bunko artist after the next, but when it comes to food, they're a crafty and conniving bunch. At least once a week, though at times more often, some constipated elderly windbag would bring a half-eaten sandwich up to the counter and complain about how under- or over-cooked it was.