To the Douche in the Dunkin Donuts Drive Thru

drivethruMost weekends, you’ll find me working, on the air, at a local radio station.  No, I can’t get you concert tickets, sweet buttery jesus, please stop asking, I don’t ask you for post-its from your office or free food from your restaurant, so just…NO.  Unless, of course, I can get tickets, then by all means you can have them.  It’s a delicate balance.  But, I digress.

Sunday nights, I work until midnight or later, and in order to sound remotely entertaining and upbeat, my body requires copious amounts of caffeine.  Also, smiling when I talk.  Try that little radio trick when you’re on the phone with someone…it really does perk up your voice.  You’re welcome. Part of my routine includes a quick stop at a Dunkin Donuts about 10 minutes from work.  Generally, my spin through the drive thru rarely garners a second thought, save for a screw up in my order.  Otherwise?  No big.

Last night, like clockwork, I stopped at the speaker to place my order for a medium, iced coffee, made light and sweet.  The kids who work at this DD don’t exactly ooze friendliness, but they’re making peanuts to sling donuts and drinks so my expectations are low.  The kid on the other end of the speaker gives the cursory, “Is that all?”  I assure him I’m all set, and he tells me to drive around.  I say, in a bit of a sing-songy, smiley voice, “Thank you!”  Normally, I’d just continue to the pay window, but because I planned to pay for my coffee with an app, I paused briefly to retrieve my phone from my bag.  During that brief stop, I heard the kid who took my order, totally mock my tone of thanks, and say, “You’re welllcome”, then chuckle as if he was laughing with someone else, at my expense.

Aw hell naw, you just did NOT do that, dude.

Just a few years ago, something so minor might send me to tears.  But this day, DD Drive thru douche was about to hear from me.  I drove to the window and said, “Are you the guy I talked to at the speaker?”  He took a coy, slouched stance to get a better look at me and said, “Maybe,” with a shit eating grin that told me he probably thought I was hitting on him.

“That was a total dick move, dude.”
“Huh?” He looked super confused, like, why is the hot cougar not hitting on me and holy shit is someone actually calling me out on something I’ve done because HOW DARE YOU.
“I totally heard you mock me back there, saying ‘You’re welcome!’ in the same tone I said thank you.  Not cool.”
“Are you sure that’s what you heard?”
“Um, yeah.  I’m sure.”
“Because we’ve been having problems with our speaker and people think they’ve heard weird things but, uh, it’s just a weird thing…”
“I know what I heard. That was a total dick move, dude.  Have a good day.”

Here’s the thing.  I come from a long line of black sheep ball busters, so I can take it as much as I dish it out.  On some level, I respect someone who has a quippy sense of humor and commend him on his technique and almost perfectly replicated pitch of my tone.  Well done.  I’m not necessarily upset that he outwardly mocked me, but that when confronted about it, he totally recoiled, like a scared little penis at the sight of water.  A topic I’m sure he knows a little something about.  See, kid, that’s the risk with such behavior, and hopefully you’ll learn this lesson sooner rather than later.  If you get busted, OWN YOUR SHIT.  Don’t deflect and pretend it’s a technological malfunction, because then, whatever points you earned for being witty go down the crapper, and now I just see you for what you really are, a tiny almost-man, who in the face of confrontation would just as well hide behind something as a shield than take your licks like a grown up.  That’s bad form.

This whole scenario should serve you, my douchey friend, as a nice little life lesson, wrapped in a casing of shut the hell up and be nice to people, jerkface, and if you’re going to mock someone, for the LOVE OF GOD, do it away from a live microphone, take it from me, the lady on the radio, I know from experience. So, what I’m saying here is, do your goddamned job and make fun of people on your own time.

Author: Sherry P

Freelance writer, Momma of twins, iced coffee addict

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