Dear Drive-Thru Chick

Dear Drive-Thru Chick,

I write you this letter so I don't get out my crappy little car and yell obscenities into your static filled intercom. I know, I know, I should be a grown-up and not be irritated that you've messed my order up for the 100th time.

It's my fault. I should stop eating here. I know this.
But until then, do not ask me if I want cheese on my plain burger. If I wanted cheese on it, it would be a plain cheeseburger. See?

Don't make me repeat my order three times and then try to give me a iced coffee when I get to the window. I don't drink coffee, I didn't order one. Some pissy caffeine junkie either behind me or ahead of me is going to want that coffee. The only thing I want to do is throw it back at you.

I know. I have anger management problems when I'm hungry. You don't help.

And why won't you give me ketchup? Why? I ask at the intercom, you say yes. I ask at the window, you say yes. I ask, "Is there ketchup in the bag?" You say yes. You LIE. Again.

Oh by the way, do you work weekends at Lee's Chicken? The one by my house that is always out of chicken. That drive-thru chick never sees the irony of her statement. They are always out of chicken.

And Drive-Thru Chick, if the cash register is broken and you can't figure out how to process my order without the pictures on the screen, don't make me wait 15 minutes to tell me to go somewhere else. I might get mad.

Lastly, if I see you tongue kiss the cook while at the window and grope his teenage ass, wash your hand before handing me my food.

Thanks!

I appreciate it.

Really.

Your customer,

Tirz