I am one feisty pregnant woman. I’m always feisty. But being hormonal gives me an even bigger attitude. Just what I need. I am the only person you know who would get in a fight with the McDonald’s manager at the drive-thru window. My friend and I wanted ice cream, and since my first love, Dairy Queen, was closed, we had to settle for McFlurries. We placed our order.
And we waited. And waited. “How long does it take to toss some M&Ms into ice cream?” I groaned, blaming the baby for my impatience, but knowing the little one had nothing to do with it. “This has taken a while,” Marie answered while eying the receipt. “It says here that we placed our order at 10:46.”
“It’s 10:56!” I cried incredulously. “10 fucking minutes for two McFlurries? This is insane!” At that, I straightened myself and peered into the window, trying to see what the hold up was. I contorted my body to see the ice cream machine, and there was a girl with a bad attitude staring back at me. “She is in no hurry!” I exclaimed while slumping back into sitting position. “Just taking her sweet time and giving me the stink eye.”
Marie didn’t have time to warn me that the manager was opening the window. “Yes ma’am?” he asked, annoyed. I didn’t know what to say to that. Was that a question? I didn’t respond. “What can I do for you?” He rephrased. “I’m just waiting for my food,” I said, and of course I threw in the shrugged shouldered-open palm-raised eyebrow gesture to show just how stupid his question was. I’m in a drive thru. I have been for ten minutes. I’m not eating. What do you think you can help me with?
“Yes, we’re working on it,” he said. No apology. No explanation for the hold-up. No free Monopoly pieces. Jack shit. A waste of opening the window. Finally, he brought the two McFlurries. I grabbed them impatiently and drove off in a roar. Marie stopped trying to stifle her laughter. The pregnant bitch finally got what she paid for.