Stupid McLoserpants: Sad Incidents

The last time we met Sunshine_AZ, she had just been given the cold shoulder. But wait! It gets worse...--Sparkitors

So after the disheartening abandonment by Stupid McLoserPants and the abominable snowpeople, I wasn't sure exactly what to think. I felt bad, and I wanted to talk to him to find out what was going on, but the Loser wouldn't make eye contact with me, let alone talk to me!

I tried to get over it. I really did. But Stupid McLoserpants has this thing where he controls your mind and makes you think about him all the time, and when you see him it's like you're about to go into cardiac arrest. (I seriously think this needs to be looked into by the FBI, or the CIA, or the Ministry of Magic or something.) Yet somehow, Stupid McLoserpants manages to remain wholly unaffected by me. It's like he can't even see me unless I do something awful and embarrassing. Which explains the series of mortifying incidents that follow. I know what you're thinking: "But, Sunshine_AZ, how is it possible that you could do something more humiliating and disgraceful than living The Night of Shame or slamming him in the face with a door?" To this, I tell you "Silence! I kill you!" and run away to weep.

As we all know, or are about to discover, I worked in a fast food restaurant. And as we all know, this in and of itself is somewhat embarrassing. But I didn't mind because it occupied my summer days, I made some friends, I got payed, and my biceps definitely expanded because I had to fill the soda machines with ice four times a day.

Let me explain how this is done (there is a reason for the explanation, I promise). First, the employee goes to the back of the kitchen, where there is a big scary-looking ice machine. She opens the lid on the ice machine, which makes a deafening CRACK! every time. Then she take two big ice buckets from their upside-down hanging place on the wall and fills them with ice. This is a very cold, tedious procedure that makes the shoulder and biceps of the arm she is scooping with burn. When the ice buckets are filled, the employee must waddle to the lobby carrying the buckets, take the lid off the soda machine, stand on her tippy-tippy-toes, raise an ice bucket above her head, and hope she's aiming right, because she's not tall enough to see into the icy abyss of the soda machine, and dump! Repeat as necessary.

So, one lovely day, only a little while after summer break had commenced, I was at work. My job is usually taking orders at the front counter, and that's what I was doing when I looked through the front door in search of customers. My eyes beheld a horrid and scary sight: Stupid McLoserPants and the Three Stooges were walking into the restaurant. I started going into cardiac arrest.

"Hillary!" I whisper-called to one of my coworkers who was supposed to be working drive-thru.
"What?" she whisper-called back.
I motioned urgently for her to come over. "Please take this order! I can't do it. I hate those guys."
She looked at the boys making their way towards us. "I can't, I'm on drive-thru."
"Please!"
"I can't!"

They were nearly to the counter. All they had to do was turn the corner and they would see my fear-filled face. Eeep! I ducked down behind the counter.

Please let someone else take their order. Please-oh-please-oh-please-oh... uh oh.

My manager was standing behind me. "Have you boys been helped?" he asked the intruders.

"Nope," they oh-so-intelligently replied.

I could feel Manager's eyes on my back now. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew he was going to tell me to take their order, and I knew that the longer I crouched behind the counter, the dumber I would look when I finally stood up, but for some reason I ignored the back of my mind and stayed ducked down.

"Elaine," he started, "What are you doing? Take their order!"

I slowly stood up, hoping maybe they wouldn't recognize me after two weeks of no school. That could totally happen, right? But when I fully straightened, four eyebrows were raised. The other four were not.

"Hi, what can I get for you?" I asked in my most employee-esque voice.

I took their order...at least I tried to. When Stupid asked for a junior whopper, I gave him a double whopper with cheese. To Larry and Moe, I did not give them the 20-piece chicken meal they asked for, but a ten-piece chicken fry kids meal instead. I almost got Curly's order right, but I gave him two of what he asked for instead of one.

Only one word can describe their thoughts of me in that moment: disgust.

My hands were shaking for approximately 6.7 minutes after that. I kind of wanted to find a wall very far in the back and bang my head against it 13.5 times. (The .5 would count as whiplash, which would remind me of my shame for the rest of the day.) But no! I was then assigned to fill the soda machines. Again.

This would mean having to walk in front of them carrying, with my stupid little-girl biceps, two 50-pound buckets of ice. I prayed I would look at least slightly competent.

The ice filling process was going relatively well...or so I thought. I had impressively carried my burden to the ice machine and was now on my tippy-tippy-toes with the ice bucket above my head. I hoped Stupid and the Stooges were watching so they could know I wasn't actually terrible at my job. But in the second that I tilted the bucket to pour the ice in, someone behind me called my name. I looked back...

And ice. Went. Everywhere. It was down my shirt, all over the counter and the floor and the table. Every eye in the restaurant was on me and my sorry-iced butt.

The person who had called my name was my manager. Apparently he was trying to tell me I had forgotten to take the lid off the soda machine.
After abashedly cleaning up the ice, all the while my hands shaking, I felt so utterly humiliated that I asked if I could go on a break. I think my manager either (a) felt pity for me or (b) was completely fed up with my stupidity, because he told me to take the whole hour.

I drove to Starbucks, where I drowned my sorrows in coffee.

This is TERRIBLE. What is wrong with Stupid McLoserPants?!! (Besides, you know, being stupid.)

Related Post: Boys Are Terrible At Texting (and Other Revelations from My Brief Relationship with Stupid McLoserPants)

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