Had a "helper" in the truck with me today. A most pleasant young man, name of Jose. He's an invaluable asset, what with reading the maps, helping me navigate, doing inventory sheets, and paperwork, and his youth and muscles make up for the lack of my own when it comes to lumping a heavy or difficult piece of freight. Well, no good deeds go ignored or unrewarded by me, so I always make it a priority to ensure that this young fella eats breakfast and lunch when he's been given the role of "the Katwoman's right hand man" for the day. And, the Kat buys, of course.
Driving back from Pennsylvania, we stopped at a "Mickey D's" (MacDonalds in trucker talk) to grab a quick lunch. After receiving our burgers and fries, we sat and munched in silence for a few minutes, and Jose, for some odd reason, starting studying the receipt. After a moment, he nonchantly mentions,
"Hey, did you know they charge you tax to sit here and eat"?
I'm like, "Wha? Let me see that thing!" I snatch the receipt, and see that yes, they DID give me a "road warriors" discount, (professional drivers can get a little break on the price of their food, which is nice, considering how often truckers grab food and go, at these service plazas). but they also charged me .56 cents for an "eat in" tax. The more I thought about it, and in my case, it wasn't more than two minutes, the more my fur started to rise up on end and I started getting a little "hissy".
"Well, the NERVE of these people, fur cryin' out loud! What the hell are they doin'? Penalizing people for wanting to simply sit down and eat like a human being?" I was practically sputtering, while steam started to seep from my ears..."And ANOTHER thing....!!! Truckers are always gobblin' down a sandwich in one hand, while trying to drive with the other! Charging them MORE to sit at a table is....is....well, it's just wrong, dammit!!!"
In the meantime, Jose never stopped chewing, and I took his appreciative grunts and nods as encouragement and support...so with that, I marched up to the counter, and asked to speak with someone in authority. A young man, with pimples, wearing a "Manager" button proudly emblazoned on his left shirt pocket calmly sauntered over to the counter. As I silently loaded my furry muzzle with verbal ammunition, I was fully prepared to go to battle, claws extended if neccessary, over this terribly "unfair" and senseless tax.
Boldly, I sallied forth with: "So, how do you explain THIS, young man???" as I pointed to the .56 cent tax on the receipt. I surely expected a more complicated explanation than the one he gave to me........
"Oh, that's nothing, Ma'am. We just do that as an 'internal' thing so that we can keep track of how many people eat in, or take carry out: We don't actually charge anyone extra to eat in."
..................doh!................
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
"Oh, very well then........"
With that, I slinked back to the table, kitty fur all smoothed down, and feeling just a bit contrite, and the words of the most famous "Emily Pettila" from the old Saturday Night Live TV shows rang in my ears.....
" Ooooh........neverrrrr miiind!!!! "
Sheesh.....ya know,...sometimes I make myself giggle...... I really do.
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