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Sometimes you wake up and know it's a McDonald's day. Just one of those I don't give a shit/I'm still too young to have a heart attack/My taste buds say so kind of things. No control. So you look forward to it all day, catching yourself daydreaming of taking that first bite into a chicken McNugget when you should be persuading customers to buy things. But finally, after nine endless hours, the day is at an end. You are free to eat. You head straight for McDonald's, only to find six cars ahead of you at the drive thru. Go inside? Nah. You can wait, no hurry. Twenty minutes later you wonder what's taking so long. No big deal, you can be patient if it means getting one of those cute little Happy Meals. But right as you pull up to the window and open your mouth, the chubby-faced teenager in a purple shirt and matching visor says "We're closed." Fuck him! You want your McDonald's! But what else can you do but give him the one-fingered salute and drive off in a rage? And vow to get even, of course. But how? That was when I gave up. Sigh.

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