Please don’t spit in my food

So, I’m waiting at a burger joint in a one horse town (and one burger joint town for that matter), just waiting on my dinner, wondering what I may find.

You see, the two teens working in the back seemed busy and said they’ll be right with me. Ok. Cool. I’m not in a huge hurry. So I’m chillin’.

Then some ladies with their teen daughters lined up behind me and asked the back of my head if I’d been helped. I turned, “Who? Me? No. Not yet.” Then they barked at the waiter, “This lady hasn’t been helped! Can you just take her order?”

The teen (unenthused to say the least) took my order. I replied, “I’m not with those ladies. I wasn’t complaining or anything.”

She suddenly lightened her mood in a “we’re-in-this-together” type way.

Then after waiting about 20 minutes, while dodging glances from the b’s at the table near me, the chick brought my food out.

I was gonna check my food right there but I thought that may seem rude so I rushed out to my car. (I rushed bc for some reason I parked on the dark, terrifying side of the building)

Welp, my food is spit-free and tasty too. I don’t know why I’m so paranoid about that. Maybe those b’s had more reason to worry than me.

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