15 Rants, One Post

Image result for doctor cox
Dr. Cox, the king of rants.


I get that a lot of bad things happened in 2016, but this whole “Fuck 2016,” meme is getting old. (It’s been old since at least November, I think.) And really, does anyone believe 2017 is going to be any better? If you consider Trump getting elected to be horrible, do you really think you’re going to hate a Trump presidency any less? And with the baby boomer generation dying off, celebrity deaths are only going to become increasingly common. It’s sad, but so is life, so get used to it.


We’re at that time where bloggers are listing their favorite ____s of the year, and I keep seeing posts where people refuse to give an explanation for their choices. For example, I’ll see a post like, “My Five Favorite Books I’ve Read this Year!” and it’ll go:

  1. Book I’ve never heard of.
  2. Book I’ve never heard of.
  3. Book I’ve never heard of.
  4. Book I’ve never heard of.
  5. Book I’ve never heard of.

This list means nothing to me unless you can tell me what the books are about, or at the very least, explain why you liked it. Otherwise, this post is a giant waste of time, and you should be ashamed. 


I hate how my interest in politics has slowly turned me into a bitter, resentful person, so much so that I even find myself hating Bernie Sanders, who I used to love. Like, I hear in the news that Bernie’s going to “fight back,” against a Trump presidency, and I hear him saying stuff like, “the revolution is stronger than ever.” And I’m like, “fuck off, Bernie. You’ve accomplished nothing. Go back to naming post offices in your tiny little state of Vermont.” I admit this isn’t fair, but I’m so burnt out that I have no interest in being fair until at least 2018.

(Oh who I am I kidding? I’m not burnt out at all, and I will always love Bernie. May his days be long upon this earth.)


Also, why the hell does my candidate never win? In 2008 I wanted McCain to win, in 2012 I wanted Romney to win, (although by that point I was gradually starting to transition into the kale-eating* liberal I am today, so I wasn’t too upset), and in 2016 I wanted Bernie and when he lost I started rooting for Hillary, who cramped up just five yards from the finish line. That 0 for 4. Now what are the odds of that? I did the math and it’s one in sixteen, or 6.3%, which is outrageous. Is this punishment for that time I accidentally ran over a raccoon? I think it is.

* Just want to clarify that I’ve never actually eaten kale in my life.


I hate when people use the word “indescribable” to describe something. It’s the ultimate cop-out for writers who are too lazy to put together a decent description. Especially bloggers. Oh, your delicious sandwich had a taste that was indescribable, you say? Well I can’t even begin to describe how angry that sentence made me. Now excuse me while I unfollow your blog and never think of you again. 

(As you can tell, I’m in a bitter mood.)


Why does time fly when you’re having fun? That seems like the least convenient time for such a phenomenon to occur. Why can’t it speed up during car rides? Or when I’m at the dentist? Now that I think of it, why does it speed up at all? Time should just stay consistent, alright?


Why the hell does Dunkin Donuts keep putting cheese on my bacon egg croissants? I always ask for no cheese, and while the cashier always gets it right, (“no cheese” always shows up on the receipt), the guy making it rarely does. As someone who works in fast food, I must ask, why is Dunkin Donuts in particular so bad at this? Is my order so uncommon that is throws them off? Or do they just not like me because I seem like the type of person who’d bash them on my blog? The world may never know.


I’m gonna call bullshit on the idea that if McDonalds’ had to pay their employees fifteen bucks an hour, they’d just replace most of their workers with robots. If they could do that, they’d have done it a long time ago. Twenty years from now, this might be a legitimate concern, and even then, I doubt it; people would boycott the store, the robots would be malfunctioning constantly, and all it takes is one murderous robot rampage to stop the whole thing in its tracks. Trust me, this isn’t going to be an issue.


Speaking of McDonalds’, creepy guys everywhere should know that the girl at the drive-thru window does not want to give you her phone number. Just take your food, say thank you, and drive away like a normal person.


I loved The Catcher in the Rye, but I find it unnerving when people praise Holden as a rebel; as someone who calls people out on their “phoniness.” This was what I was told about Holden, and after reading the book, I found myself wondering just how the hell anyone got that impression. For one thing, Holden’s an idiot, (that stuck out to me from page one) and his criticisms of other people are almost always shallow and hypocritical. Holden is whiny, stupid and spoiled, but the beauty of the book is that you empathize with him regardless of his many, many flaws. If you read the book and think, “Wow, that Holden kid is a real hero,” then there is something seriously wrong with you.


I hate when children are used as props to further someone’s agenda, whatever that agenda may be. Like this photo:

Image result for we need diverse books because I'm beautiful

Now, I am very much in favor of having more diverse books for kids to read, but there is no way in hell that picture is in any way authentic. You just know for a fact that an adult handed the kid that paper and told him to smile for the camera. Hell, I doubt that’s even the kid’s handwriting.

I’m not sure why this bothers me as much it does. I guess it just feels … cheap? Unfair to the kid? Manipulative? I don’t know, but I’m still OUTRAGED.


Why do people try to talk all authoritatively over things they don’t know anything about? In high school I took a college-level course in Environmental Studies, and while that hardly makes me an expert on the subject, whenever someone tries to lecture me on how climate change isn’t actually that big of a deal, it becomes immediately and startlingly obvious how uninformed they are. (“But we just had a really cold winter!”)

The same is true for the conflicts going on in the middle east. I don’t really understand what’s going on over there, and I can guarantee you that 95% of Americans don’t either. But that doesn’t stop some people from becoming sudden experts on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict whenever the topic arises. Unless you actually know what you’re talking about, don’t pretend that you do. Instead you might learn something.


What’s up with old people and drinking from the hose? (Bear with me on this one.)

As a kid, I’d often hear adults complain about how spoiled and pampered my generation is, and bragging about how, “when I was a kid, we drank water from the hose!” And I’d be like, “Cool. Would you like a medal, sir?” 

Because there is literally nothing impressive at all about drinking from a hose. As someone who did often drink water out of a hose during my childhood summers, I must say that it tasted no different than regular tap water. Albeit, a bit grassier. Did I think I was cool for doing this? No. Will I be bragging to my kids one day for it? Possibly. Either way, this whole thing is stupid, and now I’m thirsty.


I hate grass. It’s the most useless plant. Flowers look pretty and smell nice, trees provide shade and comfort, but what does grass do? It just sits there, like a total bum. Go away, grass, no one wants you.


I support Colin Kaepernick’s decision to take a knee during the national anthem, but I have one question that has yet to be answered.

Let’s say that America listens to his message, and we collectively take initiatives to stop systematic racism and police brutality and bam! Everything is fixed. My question is: how would he know? It’s going to take at least a couple months for the statistics to come back to show that his protest was successful, which I could imagine being a bit embarrassing for him when he finds out. “So for the last month or so, I’ve been kneeling for no reason? Damn. And my knee is so sore now.”

(This has got to be the dumbest perspective anyone’s ever taken on this topic. Whatever, I’m tired, and I because of my relative obscurity, I can afford to say stupid things.)

That’s all for me. I gotta say, this wasn’t nearly as good as my last 15 rants post.


The Worst Types of People Who Go Through the McDonalds’ Drive Thru

Mcdonald’s breakfast is amazing, and I’m not even being paid to say that.

As my long term followers will know, I work at McDonalds. What they don’t know is that for the past four months or so, I’ve been working almost exclusively at the drive-thru, to the point where I almost miss the front counter.


That being said, there are all types of people that come through the drive-thru, and some of them are pretty chill. The ice cream man went through it once (I bought a snow-cone from him, and my manager yelled at me afterwards for holding up the line), and this one lady threw a bunch of condoms at me. (“You’ll need them more than I,” she said, and I swear I’m not making this up.) 

But others are either a) terrible excuses for human beings, or b) just really annoying. And today I’m going to cover ten of those types of people who really grind my gears, starting with:

1: The people who hand you crumpled up money. 

I don’t know about you guys, but when I hand people money, I make sure said money is straightened out, for convenience’s sake if nothing else. I used to hand them crumpled up one dollar bills, but then my fifth birthday came up and I was simply getting too old for that sort of shit. 

Some people haven’t figured that out quite yet, and proceed to hand me a sweaty ball of crumpled up money, and it’s both disgusting and a hassle to count, especially when it’s busy. 

2) Customers who don’t speak to you unless absolutely necessary. 

Ugh, these people. When they pull up to the first window, I’ll usually greet them with a “hi, how’s it going?” and these people will just ignore me. They’ll simply hold their credit card/money out the window without even acknowledging my presence. 

“Ugh, how dare you speak to me?” their attitude suggests. “You are but a lowly fast-food worker, unworthy of my attention.”

3) People who start screaming when you ask them to speak clearly into the microphone. 

These people will say something that I couldn’t quite understand, so I’ll politely ask them to repeat it. They’ll then respond by SCREAMING IT AS LOUDLY AS THEY CAN. Surprisingly, this doesn’t help much. 

I think these people have an issue similar to the whole “Internet Tough Guy,” meme. They are so much more rude and obnoxious than they’d ever be if they were talking to me face to face. I know this because the people who scream and give me attitude through the speaker are usually so quiet and well-behaved when they get to window. 

4) When people ask for “a happy meal,” and leave it at that.

There are multiple different types of happy meals, and they all come with a selection of apple slices/gogurt, a choice of a drink and a choice of a toy. So when this happens, it could really slow things down, especially with the more grouchy customers.

Here’s some of the orders

  • I’d like a happy meal.
    • What type of happy meal would you like?
  • A. Happy. Meal.
    • *quiet sigh* The happy meal comes with a choice of [lists choices]
  • Oh, I’ll have to mcnuggets.
    • Is that the six piece or the four piece?
  • *long pause*
  • The four piece.
    • “Okay, would you like apple slices or gogurt with that?
  • Uh, just fries please.
    • It comes with fries automatically, but it also comes with a choice or apple slices or gogurt.
  • “Apple slices or what?”
    • Gogurt.
  • “What?”
    • “It’s yogurt.”
  • Oh. I’ll have the apple slices.
    • Okay, and what would you like to drink with that?
  • It comes with a drink?
    • Yes.

That’s over a hundred words, and I haven’t even gotten to the toy selection. This gets particularly annoying during lunch, when every other person is getting a happy meal for their kids.

That being said, the best types of customers are the ones who answer all those questions for you. If you come through the drive thru and say, “can I have a four piece happy meal with apple slices, an apple juice, barbecue sauce and the [name of current toy]?” I will forever be grateful for your cooperation.

5) Parents who smoke with their children in the car.

It’s just like, come on, man. Giving your kids long-term health problems before they’re old enough to even know what a long-term health problem is? That’s fucked up.

I give these people an incredibly judging stare as I hand them the food/money.

6) People who complain to me about the prices.

If you’re upset about the prices, don’t complain to the cashier person, because there’s literally nothing s/he could do about it.

7) People who make obnoxious comments criticizing the drive-thru.

“Did you guys confuse the drive-thru for a sleepover?” one guy said to me the other day, when the drive-thru was going admittedly slower than we would’ve liked. Even if the drive-thru was going slow, this still strikes me a ridiculously weird thing to say.

“I’m sorry,” I said to him, “Did you confuse me for someone who gives a shit?”

Of course I didn’t actually say that, but I will forever wonder what would’ve happened if I did. I’d probably get fired, or something.

8) When people drive trucks with obnoxiously loud engines.

If your truck’s diesel engine is so loud that I can’t hear someone else’s order, that’s a good sign that you should never go through the drive-thru, ever. Go inside, you’d make everyone’s life a little easier.

9) Obnoxious teenagers.

Every once in a while a car will order something, only to drive off instead of paying. These cars are almost always filled with dumbass teens, and you could tell what they’re about to do because they’re giggling like idiots and they will talk to each other about what they’re about to do despite the fact everyone with a headset could hear the entire conversation. 

I like to imagine their conversations as they drive away:

“Yo, sick prank, bro!”

“Thanks, bro, we totally got them! We’re so hilarious and original.”

“Everyone loves us, bro.”

“Totally, bro. We rock!” 

*they then proceed to drive away, blasting terrible music with their windows down for all to hear*

10) People who are completely oblivious to the line of cars behind them. 

The other day there was a good twelve cars in line, and they had to wait for this one woman to order.

  • “Hmm, what type of salads do you have?”
    • “We’ve got the bacon ranch salad, the southwest salad, and the side salad.”
  • “What’s in the bacon ranch salad?”
    • *reads the entire list of ingredients for the salad.* 
  • Oh. What’s in the southwest salad?”
    • *reads entire list of ingredients for that salad as well.*
  • “Oh, well, how do they both taste?”

This goes on for a while, and it leaves me with a nice closing statement. A public service announcement, if you will, for everyone who goes through the drive-thru of any fast food establishment:

If you don’t know what you want, and you have the option of going inside, go inside. Please, just go inside. This way you could look at the menu and decide what you want without blocking other people from ordering, and slowing everything down.

 Also, if you’re just getting something like a soda, or a sweet tea, you could get it in the lobby much, much faster than if you were waiting in the drive-thru. 

I’m just saying.

Make my life a tiny bit easier, please?

My Goals for Autumn 2015

This is the most autumn-y post in the history of autumn.

So yes, my goals for the summer didn’t go too well. If that post was a test, my teacher would’ve written “see me” on the top of it. But there’s no shame in failing, as long as you try your best. 

Of course, I didn’t actually try my best, so there is some shame after all. *shrugs*  Anywho, I’m going to try again, this time for the wonderful season of autumn. Which in New York is known as: that season in which everything dies and all the color slowly fades from the earth. It’s a fun time, really.

(Note: there will only be seven goals this season. Life is short, and so are my prospects.)  

Goal #1) Get Straight A’s.  

I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned this yet, but my grades during the last year or two haven’t exactly been stellar. You’d all be appalled by my terrible work ethic. Luckily, however, I nailed the SATs, (#genius) and in my college essay I wrote about a story that excuses my poor grades while also making it clear that I am now more motivated than ever. (That last part isn’t strictly true, but hey, I’ll let the colleges hear what they want to hear.) You may not think much of this approach, but at least it’s better than the first essay I wrote.

Yo, I’mma be honest, I ain’t the best student. But y’know what? If you let me in, I’ll holla at e’rrybody up in my school and I’ll tell’em, “Yo, Binghamton University is the real deal! You should apply there if you know what’s good for ya.”

The only problem is, if I don’t do well in the first half of my senior year, those colleges will know I’ve been schemin’ it up, and they’ll decline my application, in favor of some jerk named Brad. (Fuck Brad.) So yeah, getting good grades is definitely going to be a priority, at least for the first semester.

Goal #2) Be More School Spirit-y.  

When it comes to high school football games, and basketball games, I rarely ever attend them, despite the fact that I usually end up mostly enjoying myself. I just never really want to go. Like, I really would rather not. In fact, here’s a conversation that happened just the other day:  

Friend: Hey, you wanna go to the football game tomorrow?  

Me: *stabs self with a pencil* I’m sorry, but I’ve just been stabbed in the stomach, and will need to be hospitalized for the next few days.  

Friend: Oh, okay then. You could’ve just said no.  

But I think I should give this another try, because if I don’t I might end up regretting it twenty-five years from now. Extremely unlikely, sure, but I suppose it’s possible.

Goal #3) Do the McDonald’s drive-thru, in the snow.

This is the only reason I’m still working there. I’ve always wanted to be sitting in the back booth with a jacket on, drinking hot chocolate, and working with a nice view of the beautiful weather. It would be a great conversation starter with the customers, too.  

So how about that snow, huh?  

Yeah, it’s very, uh, snowy.

Goal #4) Blog on a near-daily basis.

Watch out followers, because your blogfeed is about to be overloaded with nonsense and tomfoolery. I know I’ve made declarations like this in the past, but this time I’m in it to win it.  

Just, y’know, if I do fail, can everyone just pretend I never wrote this?

Goal #5) Apply to Colleges.  

I’m definitely going to achieve this goal, because my parents would be so pissed off at me if I didn’t. “Really, Matt?” They’d say. “You’re not even going to bother applying to anywhere? What do you even want to do with your life?”  To which I’ll respond, completely serious and on the verge of tears: “I want to be a dancer, Mom. Just let me dance.”  

Goal #6) Get a sexy tan.

“But Matt, if you couldn’t accomplish this in the summer, what makes you think you can accomplish this now?”  

Shuddup, hypothetical person. Just let me dream.

Goal #7) Get Freshly Pressed again.

This may seem like quite a huge, slightly self-absorbed goal. But trust me, I don’t want this for me. Well, I do, but mostly I want it so I could improve mankind.

How so, you ask?

Well, there’s a survey of random, yet important questions I’d like to ask the world, but I’m not going to ask them unless I know that a huge amount of people are going to answer. So the best time to ask them would be right after getting freshly pressed, when thousands of people are going to be lurking around my blog. 

Also, getting freshly pressed is like, the greatest feeling ever. The whole month afterwards I had a new, confident spring to my step. “Hells yeah,” I’d think to myself. “I ROCK!”


Now, before I leave, I must ask: does anyone here watch The Leftovers? Please comment below if you do, because I need someone to talk to about that last episode. I haven’t been this excited about a season premiere since the fifth season of Lost.

(Also, is your sarcasm detector on point? Take this quiz to find out.)

In Which I Fail Terribly at All of My Goals

This is going to be me in ten months

At the beginning of this summer, I set a lot of goals for myself, and then I immediately forgot about those goals and just sort of dicked around for the next two months. Needless to say, I did not accomplish many of them. Now that school is back in session, I believe it’s time to look back at the past two months, and reflect on how horribly I’ve wasted them.

Goal #1: Get buff.

Yeah, I didn’t have much hope for this one. I did do some push-ups at one point, though, so I suppose this wasn’t a complete failure.

Goal #2: Get a sexy tan.

I’ve been doing the drive-thru at McDonald’s a lot lately, and what happens is that only one side of my body tends to hit by the sun, (thanks to the roof and the windows and whatnot), which results in coming home with sunburn on the left side of my face. (Sunburn. Never a tan.) Twas a failure, I say.

Goal #3: Finally Take Advantage of my Netflix Account

I didn’t take as much advantage of this as I could have, (still haven’t caught up on Daredevil), though I have watched a lot of movies lately. Has anyone seen Mad Max: Fury Road? Because that movie was mad good. (har!)

Success level: eh.

Goal #4: Confront My Inner Demons:

did confront one of my inner demons, actually. He beat me up and took my money. Not sure if this counts or not.

Goal #5: Get featured on Engie’s Quarterly Rewinds.

Basically, Engie (who’s secretly John Green, but that’s not more important right now) recaps each season, and in said recap she features her five favorite posts from other bloggers. And if I don’t step up my game by the twenty-first of June, I probably won’t make it. Mostly because I’ve barely been posting lately. I blame the government. Oh, and chairs. Fuck you, chairs.

So I didn’t make the spring rewind, but I still have a chance to make the next one. I just gotta fire the ol’ noggin right up and write the greatest post of all time. Shouldn’t be too hard.

Goal #6: Finish that book I’ve been writing. 

Still not finished, but I am close to the end. Then again, I’m not nearly as close as I’d hoped I’d be.

Goal #7: Get Beta Readers

Oh, that reminds me: would anyone like to be my beta reader? I’m not an expert at the whole thing, but I’m pretty sure this is how I’d like it to go:

  1. I would send you my WIP via google drive, (or possibly another format if you prefer).
  2. Because I’ve found that google drive gets a bit laggy once you write more than 30k words, I’m dividing my story into three parts, Suzanne Collins style. I’ll send you one act at a time, and once you’re finished with that I’ll send you the next one.
  3. Presumably you’ll provide comments and feedback and whatnot with each act.
  4. I will say “thank-you,” and hand you twelve thousand dollars for your hard work.
  5. Point #4 may not be true.

8) Get to do the drive-thru more at McDonalds.

Aha! The one goal on this list I can proudly say I’ve accomplished with flying colors. In fact, I now do the drive-thru so often that I’ve gotten bored of the whole thing. Plus I got a whole bunch of stories of all the crazy, sometimes horrible people that come through the drive-thru, that I will tell you all in time. Spoiler alert: there’s sooooooooo many high people, it’s ridiculous.

9) Actually finish a book.

Aha! I finished book two and three of Neil Gaiman’s Sandman series. They’re graphic novels that are all about . . . well, I don’t really know what they’re all about yet. There’s this guy called Morpheus who’s the Lord of the Dream Realm, and he’s pretty much the chillest guy ever.

10) Take advantage of my Six Flags pass

I didn’t go to Six Flags at all this year. 😦 Mostly because my aunt never bought us the season pass, as I’d expected. She decided not to because, what with all of us (my siblings and I) having jobs this summer, she figured we wouldn’t have time to find a day to make the two-hour drive to the park. Y’know, despite the fact that it would’ve taken only the slightest bit of effort for the three of us to make take off on the same day. Really, I think she’s just mad because we last year we went to Six Flags and didn’t take her son with us.


I may have failed horribly with my goals, but perhaps you did a tiny bit better. Feel free to tell how you did in the comments. Or if you don’t want to do that, you could try to guess what color eyes I have. (Winner gets a high five.)

You know what really grinds my gears?

When people tell you to calm down when you’re not even remotely upset. Even worse is when the person saying this is easily the least certified person to be telling anyone to relax. Does this happen to anyone else, or is it just me?

(Note: There is slightly more profanity than usual in this post, so don’t say you haven’t been warned.)

One time this happened and I simply found it funny, because I mean come on, all I did was ask the fry person at my job how long it was going to be on the next batch of fries. A customer wanted her fries with no salt, and in order to do that you had to make a whole new batch, and she wanted to know how long that would take. So I walked over to the girl currently in charge the fry station and said, “hey, how long on that next batch?”

“20 seconds!” she said, as if I’d been pestering her about it all day. “Relax.”




The word repeated in my head over and over again in that same exasperated tone. I held back my first instinct, which was to make a passive aggressive comment at her expense.

(This may be a surprise to y’all, but I’m actually a very bitchy person. I manage to hide it well, though, so only close friends and family members know about it. I prefer the term “snarky” instead of bitchy, though I think the latter’s more accurate. You can read more about my past snarkiness and the various unnecessary conflicts its caused in my upcoming series: Tragic Stories from Matt’s Childhood.)

Instead of potentially causing more conflict, I just pretended she had said it nicely instead. “It’ll be done in about twenty seconds, good sir,” or something like that.

“Okay,” I said, “Can you make a medium fry, no salt, please?” And that was the end of that.

In that instance, it didn’t bother me, because the girl was relatively new and she’d had to deal with the general manager yelling at her for the past five hours, and I’ve been in that situation many times before. I know that general managers are supposed to be all tough and strict and whatnot, but sometimes I feel like she crosses the line and she just gets nasty, acting more like a playground bully than someone who’s supposed to act professional. This was one of those days. She was yelling at the fry girl like she was some sort of animal that had managed to sneak its way inside the store, and she was slowly pushing said girl closer and closer to a nervous breakdown.

So yeah, I didn’t hold that moment against her.

But that’s not the only time someone has told me to relax, to calm down, or some other variation of the term. Just the other day at work, someone told me to calm down, and that one moment’s been bugging me ever since.

The story:

I was dealing with an obnoxious customer. He was an old person, but he wasn’t one of those cool old people with mad beat-boxing skills. Nope, he was an obnoxious, thick-headed man who I quickly wanted to punch in the face.

“Give me a happy meal,” he said, “and a chicken sandwich.”

There are four things wrong with this:

  1. No please or thank-you. Just “Give me.”
  2. There are five different types of happy meals.
  3. Happy meals come with a choice of drinks, a choice of apple slices or gogurt, and a choice of toy. He neglected all of this.
  4. There are multiple chicken sandwiches on the menu.

All of this is somewhat understandable, though, because for all I know this man had never been to a McDonalds before and therefore had no way of knowing this. Besides by, you know, actually looking at the menu. And not to brag or anything, but I handled this order like a pro. I was informative, I was polite, I was like Employee of the Month material, right then and there. But some people are just all around awful, and nothing you do can change that.

As I went over the order, the customer was growing meaner by the minute. He acted like I was somehow supposed to know he wanted apple slices with his meal. But things were still mostly civil until I got to fixing problem #4: the chicken sandwich.

“So for the chicken sandwich, did you mean you want the McChicken off the dollar menu, the crispy chicken deluxe, or grilled artisan?”

“Just give me the chicken sandwich.”

“We have three different chicken sandwiches, sir.”

He rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath, as if I was the one making this all so much more difficult than it had to be. “Just get me one of those!”

“Okay,” I said. I was starting to wonder if getting a job at a McDonald’s was the right decision. “The McChicken just has lettuce, mayo, and chicken on it. Is that okay?”

“Sure,” he said. “Whatever.”

So just to be sure I read the order over back to him, (he rolled his eyes and clearly wasn’t paying attention) and then instead of handing me the money he just put a twenty dollar bill on the counter, on the side of the register where I couldn’t see it. I never even saw him put the money down.

So I just sort of looked at him for a while, expectantly, not really what sure what to say because I felt like he was about to explode at any minute. Finally he gave a frustrated gesture to the money, sitting quietly out of my view. It was a gesture that said, “the money’s right here, you fucking idiot.”  So I took it, once again repressing the urge to make a comment.

I got the food for him as fast as humanly possible, because honestly I just wanted him out of my sight. When I got it to him he looked through the bag, picked up the McChicken and immediately looked at me with this hateful expression. “I didn’t order this.”

I felt one of my eyes start twitching at this point. “You said you wanted the chicken sandwich?”

“Yeah,” he said. I don’t how he managed to say ‘yeah’ in such an obnoxious way, but he did it, alright. “I wanted the big sandwich, in the box.”

“This one?” I said, pointing to the crispy deluxe on the menu, which I had suggested to him earlier.

“Yeah,” he said. Same tone as before.

“So you did want the crispy deluxe? With the lettuce, tomato and mayo on it?”

“Yes,” he said, and then followed it up something that made my blood boil. He told me to “calm down.”

Just, ugh. I’m grinding my teeth just thinking about it, the irony of it all. He was telling me to calm down? The man who looked like he was about to murder me when I dared to ask him if he wanted apple slices or gogurt with his happy meal? And all things considered, I had kept my cool remarkably well with him until this point. But goddamnit, he just crossed the line.

“Listen here, you little shit,” I said, grabbing him by the collar. “I asked you if you wanted the crispy deluxe, and all you said was just give me the chicken sandwich in that stupid, boneheaded voice of yours. Then I asked you if the McChicken was okay, and you said sure, whatever. So don’t talk to me like I made the mistake, you fucking prick. This was your own fault. And hey, maybe you could’ve said please, or thank-you, or I don’t know, you could have just talked to me like a human being, and this never would have happened. And don’t you dare tell to calm down when you’re the one who’s been an angry, miserable little fucker from the moment you walked in. Now get out of my restaurant, bitch, and don’t come back unless you want your ass handed to you.”

Okay, so I never actually said any of that, but oh, how I wanted to. 

The moral of this story is: don’t tell people to calm down, because all that usually does is make them angrier. And chances are, if you’re telling someone to calm down, it’s probably you who needs to calm down the most. (I feel like that’s always the case.)

Oh, and especially don’t tell me to calm down, because unless I’m at work or in a classroom, you will unleash a storm of fury of which no mortal being can escape. 

So I Met this Guy at McDonald’s Today. . .

Disclaimer: m&m McFlurries never actually look like this.

It was during one of those lulls where barely any customers show up. These lulls are becoming increasingly rare nowadays, now that the weather’s decent and every other person wants ice cream, so these lulls are something I’ve learned to cherish. During one of these periods I was working at the front counter, trying to steal m&ms without the manager/cameras see me doing so. Suddenly the door opened and a man walked in. 

He was an old man; not old enough that you’d be afraid he’d collapse at any moment, but old enough so you could look at him and say, “Yep, that guy definitely still reads the newspaper.” 

(Only old people still read newspapers, in case you missed my meaning. Any evidence to the contrary will be promptly ignored.)

So I stopped trying to steal m&ms and went up to the register. “Hi, how can I help you?” I asked, all pleasant and whatnot.

Now in my experience old men tend to buy the same things: either a) coffee, b) ice cream, or c) something off the dollar menu. They will occasionally get tea, and sometimes they will get one of the bigger, more expensive sandwiches, but they’ll always come equipped with a coupon or three if that’s the case. This man did not ask for any of those things. 

Instead he said to me, “So Matt, what’s the plan?” 

(I’m always a bit taken back when people say my name as if they know me personally. I always have to take a second to think, “Wait, do I know this person? Oh, he’s just reading my name-tag.”)

Because I am not an all-knowing God of any sort, (though I could understand why someone would think otherwise) I had no idea what he was talking about. So I asked what he meant, and he clarified: “What do you want to do your life?”

He asked if I had plans for the future and if I’ve been getting good grades in school. And I made the mistake of responding with an “I don’t know,” as casually as if he’d asked me what I wanted for dinner

Just for some background information: I do think about my future, constantly. Stuff like college and potential careers are almost always on mind, and it doesn’t help that I’m reminded of it every single day of my life by adults who for some reason think I’ll forget. (“College is important, Matt.” “Oh, it is? Thanks for the pep talk, Dad.”) 

The thing is, I don’t actually know for sure what I want to be. I’d like to pursue a career in writing, and I’d also like to pursue a career in medicine, and I feel like the two areas don’t mix too well. So I applied for a volunteer program at a nearby hospital this summer, just to get glimpse of sorts on how things are, and I’m joining my school’s newspaper club next year, if that helps. Hopefully I’ll discover that I hate one of those things and love the other. That would make my choices in life so much easier.

(Also, my school apparently has a newspaper. Must not be a very good one, considering I’ve been there for three years and am only just finding out about it now.)

But I’m not all that cool with sharing this information to anyone who just happens to walk into McDonalds, so I answered with a simple “I don’t know” in the hopes that it would make the conversation go by faster. It did not.

“You don’t know?!” He proceeded to rant about how the public education system is America’s greatest failure, and how he’d asked a whole bunch of the other employees at this Mcdonalds the same question, and “None of them had a clue!” 

Three thoughts crossed my mind as he said this, the first being that really? Who the hell goes around asking McDonald’s workers what they want to do with their lives? The second was how is that any of his business? And the third one was: I’m so going to blog about this guy when I get home.

I didn’t voice any of these thoughts. Instead I just sort of nodded politely as he gave me advice on how to figure out my future, which consisted entirely of doing things I’ve already done. I mostly just smiled and nodded and tried very hard not to roll my eyes. I used to have a serious eye-rolling problem, you know. Like, even when I wasn’t annoyed I’d accidentally roll them anyway, which would lead to conflicts like this:

“Hi Matt, how’s it going?”

*rolls eyes*

“Well excuse me!” *throws fist* 

I managed to avoid rolling my eyes, thank God, and eventually he managed to finally get around to actually ordering his food, which I got for him as quickly as possible. Then I spent the rest of shift wondering about what he said. Not the parts about my future and everything, but about how he apparently asked multiple people at this specific restaurant what they wanted to do with their lives. Why this restaurant? Why does he even care? And does he go through the drive-thru and pull the same sort of shit on those kids too? 

I started to come up with possible reasons for why he’d do this. Maybe he didn’t pay enough attention to his future when he was my age and now regrets it. Maybe he had a child at one point whose life went off the deep end, and he blames himself for not pushing said offspring onto a better path.

Or perhaps he’s just one of those people who thrive off making others uncomfortable. I know plenty of those.


[UPDATE: I almost forgot. Any high school seniors who happen to be reading this, please check out this post. Why? Because I said so, that’s why.]

Things I Learned from Working at Mcdonald’s

This clown is terrifying.

I’ve been working at Mcdonald’s for about five months now, and I can’t help but feel like my days there are numbered, and not just because I keep stealing the mcflurries. (They won’t let me get them as a crew meal, the bastards.) It’s just that the whole job’s starting to feel a bit . . . I don’t know . . . soul-crushing? Yeah, that sounds about right.

I’m hoping to quit Mickey D’s and find a new job at this nearby movie theater, because 1: they apparently give employees free movie tickets, and 2: it looks so much easier than my job at Mcdonald’s. That probably sounded condescending to movie theater employees, but I refuse to apologize until I’m proven wrong.

They even get to wear cool bow ties.

However, I’d like to apologize to the Mcdonald’s corporation as a whole, because I have a tendency to make them sound much worse than they actually are. Sure, the job’s “soul-crushing” (a bit over-dramatic, I’ll admit), but so are most minimum wage jobs, and when you compare them to working in an eighteenth century sewing factory, they’re really not that bad. In fact, working at Mcdonald’s has improved my social and communication skills, and has taught me the value of teamwork, discipline and responsibility.

Okay, I just copied the majority of that last sentence from a pamphlet I found titled, “Apply to McDonald’s today!” I didn’t actually learn any of those things. Well, except a little bit of the communication skills part. But the job did teach me a few valuable things that I may or may not keep with me for the rest of my life. Mainly:

1) How to perform under pressure.

Though I’m sure many paramedics will disagree, Mcdonald’s is a high stress environment. Especially when you see the line of customers pile up. And any mistake you make can lead to you being yelled at by either your boss or your customer. Possibly both. And because I’m not a fan of being yelled at, (few people are) I had to learn how to take care of many things at once in a short period of time, all while smiling in a believably sincere manner. I still make mistakes, more so under pressure, but I’ve gotten a lot better at handling it than I used to. I also learned that:

2) Adult customers are so much worse than teenage customers.

I believe there’s this rumor* going around about how kids and young people today are more bratty and entitled than ever before, which made it all the more surprising when it turned out that my worst customers were all at least twice my age.

Now, I don’t want you to think I hate all old people or anything, because in my humble opinion, old people are great. Betty White? Morgan Freeman? Olenna Tyrell? All great people, who I’d love to meet one day. Not to mention all the old people I know personally, such as my physics teacher, who looks like Santa Clause but is actually Usain Bolt in disguise. Or my grandparents, who are admittedly a tiny bit racist, but they give me money every time I visit, so I’m willing to look past that.**

It’s just that my older customers are much more likely to do things like:

  • Abuse the shit out of coupons. (Seriously, where do they find all these coupons?)
  • Pay for a cup of coffee with a hundred dollar bill.
  • Get annoyed when I ask something like “Medium or Large?” as if this was the most obvious question in the world and I should’ve already known.
  • Ask me to a put in an entire new batch of fries, and to leave it in for an extra five seconds so it’ll be extra crispy.
  • Ask me to make another batch of fries and leave it in for an extra ten seconds, because that first batch wasn’t quite crispy enough for their tastes. (Seriously, we wasted seven minutes and two batches of fries just for this one customer.)
  • Ask me, in a very concerned tone, if I get good grades in school, and if I’ve been thinking properly about my future.

Now, here’s a list of annoying things teenage customers tend to do:

  • They mumble sometimes.

That is all. Sure, there was this one obnoxious, entitled little shit of a teen, but I’m pretty sure the only reason he was so terrible was from learning from his mother, who was even worse. (Remember people: it’s always the parents’ fault.) Oh, and I bumped into this kid at lunch the other day and he was just as rude to the lunch ladies as he was to me. I gave him the evil eye for about twelve seconds, but he didn’t notice. Oh well, moving on . . .

3) I really need to learn spanish.

This is a bit of a cheat, because I didn’t actually learn spanish, I just realized that I probably should, and I’m starting to regret having stopped taking that spanish class in school. The majority of the kitchen staff and at least a sixth of my customers speak spanish as their first language, which every once in a while will lead to communication problems. And that’s, like, the worst type of problem.

I blame the American public school system for not teaching a foreign language starting in first grade. Y’know, when kids are more easily able to pick the language up. Instead we wait until the kid is in seventh grade to start teaching them this stuff, which doesn’t make any sense to me.

Also, there are times when I suspect people are making fun of me in spanish (right in front of my face) and I would like to know for sure.

4) Customers are generally good people.

For every bad customer I get, there are about twenty-five good ones, along with a handful of genuinely kind, amazing people who can make your day. And lately there’s been a sudden increase in customers with irish accents. I have no idea why, but I don’t like to argue with a good thing, so I’ll just enjoy it while it lasts.

At the moment, I can’t think of anything else to say, which is a shame because I really wanted to have five points instead of four. It would simply work better. Oh well. Here’s a picture of a goat.

*there is some merit to this, seeing as I witness a small but loud group of bratty, entitled kids in my school treat the teachers like crap instead of with, y’know, any form of respect. I should write a post about this.

**does that make me a bad person? They are my family after all.

Day in the Life as a Public High School Student (Don’t Worry, This is Interesting!)

So, a lot of my blogger friends have written posts like “A Day in the Life of a Home-schooled Student,” or “A Day in the Life of Private School Student” or something cool like that. And I thought, hey, why I don’t I do the same thing? Sure, going to public school isn’t quite as interesting or unique as going to school abroad or having it at home, but I feel like some people might still be interested.

I mean, not every public high school is the same, so even though some readers may be going to one, they might be surprised to see how another one works. And all you adult readers out there may be curious to see how schools have changed since you were students. So yeah, keep reading.

5:45 AM: I wake up, press the snooze button on my phone.

5:50 AM: I wake up, press the snooze button on my phone.

5:55 AM: I wake up, press the snooze button on my phone.

(This goes on for a while)

6:15 AM: I get out of bed. I don’t have to take a shower because I took one last night (#prepared) and I recently got a hair cut, so bed hair isn’t a problem for me. I sympathize with the long-haired people in the world. You guys have it rough.

6:20 AM: I pour cereal in the bowl and realize that there’s no more milk left. I think back to any terrible deeds I may have done in the past to have deserved this, and can’t think of anything. There’s no time to make anything else, so dry cereal it is.

(Man, my life’s terrible. Feel bad for me.)

6:28 AM: I’m waiting at the bus stop, freezing and half-asleep at the same time. There’s this one obnoxious kid who listens to rap music and raps along with it (loudly) in the morning, but because the sun hasn’t come up yet I can’t seem to tell where he is.

6:40 AM: Bus comes twelve minutes late, and it becomes clear why once I see the busdriver. Oh god. It’s Elvis.

Elvis is a substitute bus driver in our school district, and has been since around for a long time. We call him that because he looks like what Elvis probably did in the last few months of his life. He’s notorious for being a horrible driver and for just generally being an unpleasant person. Personally, I just think he needs a hug. There’s no way I’m going to give him one, though.

Even though Elvis kept hitting the curbs, and he left the lights on, I still managed to spend most of the ride asleep.

7:05 AM: I get to school, stop by the library, get a pass for lunch (because I’ve got physics homework to do, bitches) and then go to the cafeteria to get some apple juice.

7:17 AM: My first class is AP English, with my possibly-murderous English teacher. This class is a breeze, because he basically just talks about symbolism and metaphors and whatnot in this book we’re currently reading, A Separate Peace by John Knowles.

8:05 AM: Pre-Calculus. This class is weird because the teacher simply doesn’t care if the students are paying attention and never checks the homework; she just continues teaching regardless of whether anyone is actually listening, which is new for me. Maybe this is her way of preparing us for college (where apparently, the professors don’t give a shit about you) but all it’s done for me is let me slack off. I spend this time working on my physics homework, which I still haven’t done.

9:00 AM: Financial Math. This is an easy class, with a really obnoxious, uptight teacher. The only way to get her in a good mood is to ask her about couponing. She loves coupons and uses them all the time, and she loves to talk about how much she saves and what she bought with them. It’s weird.

(I apologize to my Financial Math teacher, if she’s reading this. It seems unlikely, being as she should have no idea about this blog, but with my luck she probably will.)

Anyway, she wouldn’t let me make up a test today, because I missed the two days where she allowed us to do it after school. I missed the first day because I had to go to work immediately after school, and I missed the second day because I was unexpectedly sick with food poisoning. Apparently, this wasn’t a good enough excuse.

(To be fair, I made up the whole food poisoning thing. But there’s no way she could’ve known that, which means that given what she knows, she’s intentionally punishing a student for being sick.)

9:47 AM: U.S. History: I get lunch on my way to class, which is usually a turkey sandwich from the cafeteria, some goldfish, and this soda called Switch that tastes weirdly amazing. I always take the cheese off the sandwich, because it is the most appalling excuse for cheese I’ve ever seen.

We played a game of school jeopardy preparing for a test the next day. Not meaning to brag or anything, but we tied. For last place, with zero points. (We bet all in, and we lost.)

10:35 AM: This is my actual lunch period, which I spend in the library doing physics homework. Or more accurately, I spent this on my phone, looking through any notifications (“hey, Nevillegirl just responded to my comment!”) or looking through all the books despite the fact that I have two late books already and I know I can’t check any of them out. I end up sitting next to two friends of mine. One of them made a list on twitter of his twenty best “bros.” The other one, let’s call him John, is upset because 1) he wasn’t on it, and 2) most of the guys on that list are not friends with him at all.

Also, there was a fight in the cafeteria, which I missed. I’m not actually upset about it though, because I’ve never been interested in school fights unless I personally knew one of the kids involved.

11:18 AM: 3-D Ceramics, which isn’t nearly as fun as it sounds. It’s tough to describe the project we’re doing in there, because even I don’t entirely know what it is. Something to do with glue and paper. Oh well, I’m still rocking a 98 average in that class. Somehow. There’s a lot of time to talk in that class, and the primary subject of interest is usually Ebola, and how it’s going to totally kill us all.

12:10 PM: This is my physics class. I hate the subject, but like the teacher. He kind of looks like Santa Clause, yet there are occasions where, for demonstration purposes, he will sprint across the room with a speed you never would have guessed he was capable of running. I have a theory that he is actually Usain Bolt in disguise.

1:00 PM: P.E. class, where instead of actually exercising, we have to take a test on Ultimate Frisbee. What the hell, school? Why do I have to study for a test for gym? I don’t know how it used to be or how P.E. is like in other places, but I think we can all agree that this is stupid.

1:42 PM: Gym ends. A friend of mine in the locker room is selling candy for a school club of some sort. (Fun fact, people in various clubs walk around selling candy to raise money, which means that I can go around spending my money on chocolate bars and skittles instead of, y’know, healthy stuff.)

1:43 PM: I think about staying after school for Physics extra help, but I really don’t want to, so I get on the bus instead.

2:10 PM: I’m at home, and get a surprise text from my boss asking me if I could work today, 6 to 10. This is always a tough decision for me, because on one hand: i hate my job, but on the other hand: more money! Money’s great. They’re like thin green pieces of happiness.

Everything up from 2:10 to 6:00 PM is a bit of blur. I remember watching the season 4 finale of The Wire (saddest episode ever), and later falling asleep and waking up at 5:40 PM, but I don’t remember when exactly that happened.

6:00 PM: I go to work, at McDonald’s, where the customers are weirdly difficult today. Mcdonald’s customers are usually polite, but today they were ruder than I’ve ever seen them. One woman and her son were pissed off because they had to wait more than a minute for their food, and I had to explain to them that 1) the place was extremely busy at the moment, and 2) we were understaffed at the time, so she’d have to wait a little longer than usual. She then demanded to speak to the manager, who told her the exact same thing. The mother interpreted this as him (the manager) giving her attitude, made a huge fuss and then actually called the McDonald’s headquarters or whatever it’s called with the sole intention of getting him fired. Which was upsetting, because he was my favorite of all the managers.

Luckily, for every obnoxious, entitled brat of a customer, there’s another nice one who restores hope in humanity.  A guy who used to manage a Buffalo Wild Wings saw the whole thing and gave the manager his number, so he could be a witness if he ended up getting in any sort of trouble over this, because that’s the type of guy he was.

10:13 PM: I am back from work, exhausted. I get some homework done, came up with this idea for a blog post, wrote half of it, and then went to sleep.

To end this post, here’s a picture of a giraffe.

Hey, How’s It Going?

You know how I wrote that post in the beginning of the summer, talking all about how I was going to try to avoid the inevitable summer slump? Ha ha, yeah, that didn’t work out at all. I would make a few jokes about it, but I’m afraid it’s too soon for that and besides, I feel really, really bad.

Like, so bad.

As in, badder than Kangaroo Jack.

(Kangaroo Jack was a horrible movie, for anyone who hasn’t seen it. Basically, it centers around these two guys who decide to put a jacket—one with fifty thousand dollars in it— on a kangaroo because they thought it would be funny. Then the audience is supposed to feel bad for them when the wild animal runs away with all their money? Yeah, no. I reject that premise. I reject that whole movie and everyone even vaguely involved in it, and that includes the entirety of Australia. Screw you, Australians.*)

Anyway, I feel like the best way to make this up to you is to give you an idea of what I’ve been doing during these sad, post-less months.

Most importantly, I got a job, almost immediately after the post, “My Quest for a Job,” at McDonalds, and for the most part it hasn’t been completely terrible. The worst thing I’ve done so far was accidentally piss off my gym teacher’s wife. Basically, it was my first day working the counter and she ordered a caramel frappe, which I completely forgot about while trying to keep up with the dozens of other impatient customers in line. Let’s just say, she has a bit of a temper.

Besides angry gym teacher’s wives, my main problem at work seems to be ice cream cones. They are so much harder to make than they look, to me at least. The sheer amount of ice cream I’ve wasted due to botched attempts would make a little kid cry. Also, my experience on the drive-thru was nothing short of a nightmare. It was my second full day on the job, I barely knew what to do, the headset I was given was broken (and I didn’t know it was broken, so apparently people were giving me orders that I never even heard) and my boss was yelling at me to do things in an extremely thick accent the whole time. After fifteen minutes or so, I was taken off the drive-thru and reassigned to cashier. Not sure why.

On the bright side, yesterday I managed to go four full hours without embarrassing myself. I figured out where almost everything was on the menu, I understood how to make the coffee and the ice cream machine was broken so I never had to make any cones. Of course, tomorrow it will probably be fixed and all hell will break loose, but that’s in the future so I don’t really care.

In other news, I am afraid of my AP English teacher. Not because he’s a mean guy—far from it—but because of his eyes. He has full on crazy eyes, combined with a face eerily similar to Jack Nicholson’s from The Shining. He seems like someone who had three wives die from falling down the same set of stairs. Except I should probably put quotation marks around “falling” just to make it clear that they did not fall. He doesn’t give a lot of homework though, so he’s still good in my book.

In other news:

  • I’ve learned how to juggle.
  • I tried crab meat for the first time, and I loved it more than any other food in the world. Then I ended up eating too much of it at once, and now the very smell of it makes me want to vomit. Crab meat is awful now.
  • I did a collaborative review for the Doctor Who episode Listen, on Engie’s blog. You could also check out all the other reviews here, because they’re fantastic.

To end this post, here’s a picture of a frog I drew. Feel free to give it a name.

wpid-wp-1411784898624.jpg*Except, of course, for all the Australians currently reading this. You guys are great. *laughs nervously*

My Quest for a Job

This girl is way too happy.

A little while back, my family went to New Hampshire to celebrate one of my cousins graduating from college. (I feel like I’ve mentioned this before.) Sometime during the party, I took a break from mastering Guitar Hero and sat down next to my aunt, in the chairs surrounding the fire pit.

Now for reasons you will probably be able to guess, I did not want to sit next to my aunt. I only did so because it was the only available seat, and I’d already made it clear I that I was planning on roasting marshmallows. As usual, I sat down for about ten seconds before she started prying into all the details of my life, sort of like how a deranged cannibal would pry out someone’s liver. I responded politely and all, but a keen observer would’ve noticed that my eyes were twitching from the intense desire to roll them, over and over again.

Anyway, after lamenting over how my parents didn’t send me to a proper catholic school like she did with her kids, she asked me if I had a job yet or not, to which I said no.

“What? You don’t have a job yet? But, you’re sixteen!” She called to her husband who was about twenty feet away. “Hey, did you know Matthew doesn’t have a job yet?”

“What?” he said, “I had my first job when I was eight years old.” And so the rest of the family members had a very long and nostalgic conversation about their first job, and they only roped me back into it whenever I thought I was safe to leave. This long and boring conversation got me thinking: hey, why don’t I have a job? I started to think about what my fictional mentor, Dr. Cox, would say if he found out I didn’t have one, and decided it would probably be something like this:

“I’d lu-hove to give you a little speech on how sad and pathetic your life is but unfortunately, Sheila, I’m just not a very big fan of talking to people who contribute absolutely nothing to society. Honestly, I’m better off talking to a car, or a desk, or oh, gosh, I don’t know, the very chair you’re sitting on, right now. Because at least that chair is providing someone a place to sit down. Sure, that someone is just a sad, unemployed jackass, and all the chair’s really doing is allowing said jackass to sit and ponder upon his own jackassery, but we shouldn’t judge the poor chair just because someone like you happens to be using it.” He would then start talking to the chair in a soothing voice, saying things like “It’s okay,” and “someone better will come along…”

Imagining Dr. Cox insulting me multiple times a sentence got me motivated, and so I started applying for jobs as soon as possible. First I applied for a movie theater, then Denny’s, Hannaford’s, Subway, Wendy’s, Burger King, Shoprite, Dunkin Donuts, another Dunkin Donuts and finally McDonald’s, all of which were nearby. You may find it surprising that I applied for McDonald’s last, especially since as of 2013, there are more McDonalds than people in America today. (Don’t look that last part up; just take my word for it.) I’ve decided that I’d only apply for Mcdonald’s as a last resort, mostly because my brother works for Burger King, and if I got a job at McDonalds we would have to be enemies. As in, even worse enemies than we are now. (And besides, I heard that job’s terrible.) And as of now, not a single one of the other restaurants has replied to me. Yet.

I know, it’s been less than a week, so perhaps I should be a bit more patient. But considering that my brother literally only applied for one job and got it two days later, I thought this whole process would be easier. Maybe I’m just really bad at filling out applications…

(Ha, who am I kidding? I’m not bad at anything.)

So, what do you think? Should I be more patient? Should I apply to more places? Should I join the circus? If I do get hired by McDonalds, would that make me morally obligated to murder my brother and steal his crown? I sincerely hope not. What was your first job, if you’ve had one? Have you ever had the McRib? If so, was it any good?