I must praise the majority of patrons that walked the halls at the cinema today. You came and watched and did a good job not to annoy the hell out of me...and the last few days, it has been touch and go with my moods.
But in the spirit of Fresh Fish, I must submit a COD so I give you one from just a couple of weeks ago. It's the Something for Nothing guy.
This COD made his way through my line with wife and children. I can't recall the exact number in their party but I think in total, the number was five. They ordered quite a bit of food. A couple of hotdog combos, the largest popcorn combo, candy, and the lot. Pretty sizable amount of food. We like those...drives up my daily transaction average which nominates me for the prizes at the employee meetings (don't get too excited. They're usually coupons...sometimes exprired at that...to a local fast food chain).
All was said and done with Father COD.
Approximately ten minutes later, I was refilling a popcorn tub for a woman who was complaining about the stale popcorn we had the audacity to serve her. I wasn't paying much attention to who she was talking to until I heard the gentleman say something about a complaint as well. Handed the miss her popcorn and turned to the man (who cut in line, by the way).
It was the COD. He handed me a hotdog that was still laying in the foil wrap and gave me a look that threatened lashes and a visit from the Better Business Bureau for my lack of customer service skills. That look! Hmmmmm, what was wrong with it?
Well, laying on the hotdog were several curled pieces of hair. Hair that looked like several strands had been pulled from a brush and discarded on the floor. I glanced at the man again with a questioning look. I had to because I couldn't believe he had the balls to give this thing back to me. This hotdog on its bun with hair obviously on it. And all he could give me was a stern face that promised civil disobedience right there in a full theater if I didn't take care of the problems I OBVIOUSLY caused.
I took the damn dog and walked to the damage bin, suddenly channeling a black woman from the guest list on Jerry Springer.
"You think I'm a damn fool. Like I don't know you dropped this mothafucka on the floor. Like I don't know it's your own damn fault that your hotdog is nasty. Want something for nothing. I ain't stupid. You're the stupid ass that can't hold your weiner. Hmpf!" I muttered under my breath.
Threw the hotdog in the bin, grabbed a fresh, naked one from the hotdog corral, and handed to the COD.
"Here you go. Have a nice day," I faked.
And when he walked away, "Like I can't figure you out by the mustard and ketchup UNDER the damn hair that you dropped the fucking thing."