So, this summer I am taking a “break” from my typical year-round job (as a coach to extremely enthusiastic, energetic, and slightly slobbery young children on the Upper East Side of Manhattan) and instead have decided to work in a gym at the front desk.  Great plan, right? Well, yes, it would be if I had a job in one of the gyms I am speaking of. Sadly, I do not. So I decided Monday was the day to drive from gym to gym and seek occupation.

In true unemployed-college-student-at-home-while-everyone-else-is-working fashion, I awoke at 10:30 a.m., the latest I have woken up in probably a year. I mosied on down to the kitchen, had some breakfast, and played with the pup. Then, I left home and spent all of yesterday with this view…

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Yes. This is me driving, using a GPS, looking at my handy dandy sheet of paper with multiple gym facility locations, and taking a picture. To make it all even more dangerous and magical, I was sipping on this…

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Yes, this is a trendy-bendy, fancy-shmancy iced coffee from Mickey D’s. You know, that extremely entertaining commercial where the presence of this 3 dollar plastic cup of crack iced coffee magically makes everything french and immediately glamorous. Something tells me that even if they were offering complimentary facials and fresh smothies on the New York City public transportation system, it would still be a far cry from glamorous. Anyways, I still love the commercial and needed to try one. It was fantastic and I hazardously enjoyed it along with some TJ’s PB pretzels.

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Now, let me rewind past the PB pretzels and the numerous amounts of things I was doing to break the law, and go back to exactly how I got that iced coffee.  Sorry Ania and Mark, this is the second time you’ll be hearing my sob-story.  So, I decide, since I’m unemployed and all, that there was no way somebody in my position would be parking and walking into the store – I had to use the drive-thru. This made me feel especially lazy and immobile and I was satisfied with my choice. That is, until, I ordered my coffee.

Satan: Hello welcome to McDonald’s (I SEE THAT YOU COULDN’T BOTHER TO GET YOUR RUMP OUT OF YOUR CAR AND WALK THE FIVE FEET TO THE FRONT DOOR) can I take your order please?

Me: Yes, hi, I’d like an Iced Coffee with nonfat milk and umm…do you have Splenda?

Satan: Yeah we got that, how many you want?

Me: Umm…two?

Satan: Two-fifty-nine please DRIVE around. 

Me: Okay thanks.

So this sounds just fine, right? Wrong. I pay, receive my iced coffee, and pull out just a little past the window and stop to set myself up, to be safe of course instead of doing this as I’m driving. I take a nice first sip and…hmm definitely splenda….as well as a pound and a half of sugar. So I check behind me, back up, and politely wave! at the friendly McDonald’s employee. 

Satan: (Opening the window with a look of pure evil) Yes?

Me: Hi again, sorry! 

(I have a problem with apologizing when I shouldn’t be).

Satan: Is there a problem?

Me: Uh, yeah, well…I don’t mean to be annoying but, I asked for splenda and well, there’s sugar in here. I’m sorry! 

(I told you, it’s a problem.) But the best part of all, the most unbelievable moment of this magical Mickey D’s experience, was when Satan himself stared my back in the eye and says…

Satan: Well, did you SAY no sugar?

!!!!!!!

!!!!!!!

Really!?!?!

She then proceeded to exchange my coffee and complain to her boss about the fact that SHE didn’t mess up the order, BUT YOURS TRULY just didn’t order correctly. I don’t know, maybe it’s just me, but wouldn’t you usually assume that if someone is asking for Splenda, they DON’T WANT SUGAR?!! Okay, I know McDonald’s is new to the whole specialty-coffee deal but if you’re gonna offer to make ‘substitutions’, then don’t complain about it! Whatever, I’m definitely over it. 

Well, I’m off to return to that McDonald’s, wait in the parking lot for that employee, and dump packets of Splenda all over her car. Scratch that, too expensive. After that, I’ll be writing a letter to Ronald McDonald himself and filing an official complaint. Scratch that, I hate clowns.  I guess I’m just off to wallow in my own pity. But I’m totally over it. Really. 

I leave you with this…

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– Case

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