Communication retardation is nothing new in our society. We’ve all stood behind someone in the check-out line at the grocery store who, for whatever reason, is updating the person on the other end about their festering herpes sores. And what kind of Frankenstein aggregate stats counter would it take to determine how many people have lost their jobs by Facebooking “doing nothing but pretending like I’m busy and CA$HING IN!” status updates while on the clock? But those are nothing compared to a new trend that’s emerging, a level of annoying cell phone behavior that has made me start passive-aggressively responding to text messages, “Who is this? I lost my phone with all my contacts.” Because everyone knows that’s code for “You’ve been deleted.”
It is called Drive-Thru Chatting.
How this works is simple: You receive a call from someone who is clearly driving while on a cell phone. This, in itself, is not necessarily something to be condemned. Sure, it’s extremely dangerous and you might end up killing someone due to needless distraction, but hell, you live in LA, and you’ve got calls you have to make! There’s only so many hours in the day to get shit done, and most of these hours are spent in traffic. I get it. I’ve done it before. Fair enough.
But what happens midway through the conversation is where the minor annoyance morphs into a full-blown “I hope your dog accidentally mauls your best friend because then (a) you’d have to live with extreme embarrassment/regret for the rest of your life for owning such an untrained dog; and (b) because you’d have to put your furry companion down since it developed a taste for human blood” level of seething hatred.
“Can you hold on one second?” they ask.
Since I’m a well-mannered and generally laid-back individual, I allow them their second. Have a few more, even. You probably need to tend to more important business like, say, merging through three lanes of traffic to reach a quickly approaching off-ramp. Or evading a meteor-sized pothole. Or swerving out of the way to avoid eradicating an entire 4th grade class. But instead, the next sentence on the phone makes my sphincter clench with rage.
“Welcome to _____. Can I take your order?” This, mind you, is spoken by an entirely different voice.
You see, what my acquaintance has done, while in the middle of a conversation with me, is pull into a fucking drive-thru to order fucking food.
To be clear, it’s not so much the actual order itself that’s annoying, but the premeditation involved that makes this the cell phone equivalent of someone spending 18 hours a day constantly flicking your ears. No matter how fat you are, you don’t just accidentally find yourself in a drive-thru. You don’t have gastrointestinal-amnesia, and don’t even try blaming this on low blood sugar or I’ll run you over with my car. You realize where you’re going, how many cars you’re away from ordering, and exactly what you want from the fast food establishment. But, for whatever reason, you don’t pull over and park like a reasonable individual, allowing you to give your full attention to the conversation at hand. And you know why you don’t do this?
Because you’re fucking retarded.
So, from here on out, let it be known: If any of you fuckers order food while I’m on the phone, the next time I see you I will cut out your tongue with a plastic spork, take it to the nearest feed lot, force a cow to eat it, follow the bovine as it goes through the slaughterhouse and is prepared into burger, bribe the fast food place to save this particular patty until you show up, and then watch as you eat your own fucking tongue. Which you will do. Because you’re a fucking fat-ass.