Headsnap
1st Level Orange Feather
- Joined
- Jun 28, 2004
- Messages
- 2,189
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For the past few weeks I have been working at a McJob, serving McFatties with McFood from the McDrive-Thru window whilst McCleaning the McKitchens. It is a dull and dreary job, a temporary measure one has been forced to resort to because one lost their last job on the fishing boat because the prawns don't want to get into the net. However, despite the drudgery of being a McTwat and the general shittyness of the pay and conditions there is one high point which has consistently brightened my days.
I call him Mister McSangweej.
Mister McSangweej is a funny tale. He is a morbidly obese, balding, greasy middle-aged man who drives a Ford Escort (or possibly an old Orion) and is always covered in plaster dust, leading me to assume he is a chippy or a plasterer to trade. He doesn't seem very good at the old social interaction, with a droopy face and monotonous voice devoid of any emotion aside from "gormlessness". He pulls up to the window once or sometimes even twice per day, usually around midday or mid afternoon, and orders the exact same thing every time; a large McChicken Sandwich meal with coke. Unfortunately for Mr McSangweej he suffers from the speech impediment known as "being Scottish", and as such he is unable to order his favourite meal in the correct fashion. Instead, his condition forces him to refer to it as "Chickeen McSangweej meal, lerge, wi' coak", which amuses my little sassenach sensibilities to no end. It was funny the first time and no dobut I'll still be laughing about it long after I have packed in the McJob and gone on to better things.
Yet even amidst the mirth and merriment derived from mocking someone else's idiom there is genuine concern. Yesterday, at five o'clock, Mr McSangweej pulled up to the window and asked for his usual Chickeen McSangweej meal; however, instead of "lerge", Mr McSangweej asked for "jes' a meejum, wi' diet coak". That set alarm bells ringing within my heart. I am concerned now that something has happened to Mr McSangweej to make him stop ordering his lerge wi' coak. He is not a young man, and nor does he appear to be particularly healthy. I am worried that he has had some bad news from his doctor, or that he has perhaps seen his rotund form in a mirror and will soon no longer pull up at the drive-thru window to order his McSangweej, thus robbing me of what little joy I had in my work.
As a member of this community I ask you all, please, to pray for Mr McSangweej. If he carks it I will have nobody else to mock until Missus Hippopotamus returns once more with her balloon-headed child to ask for silly meals that we do not supply.
I call him Mister McSangweej.
Mister McSangweej is a funny tale. He is a morbidly obese, balding, greasy middle-aged man who drives a Ford Escort (or possibly an old Orion) and is always covered in plaster dust, leading me to assume he is a chippy or a plasterer to trade. He doesn't seem very good at the old social interaction, with a droopy face and monotonous voice devoid of any emotion aside from "gormlessness". He pulls up to the window once or sometimes even twice per day, usually around midday or mid afternoon, and orders the exact same thing every time; a large McChicken Sandwich meal with coke. Unfortunately for Mr McSangweej he suffers from the speech impediment known as "being Scottish", and as such he is unable to order his favourite meal in the correct fashion. Instead, his condition forces him to refer to it as "Chickeen McSangweej meal, lerge, wi' coak", which amuses my little sassenach sensibilities to no end. It was funny the first time and no dobut I'll still be laughing about it long after I have packed in the McJob and gone on to better things.
Yet even amidst the mirth and merriment derived from mocking someone else's idiom there is genuine concern. Yesterday, at five o'clock, Mr McSangweej pulled up to the window and asked for his usual Chickeen McSangweej meal; however, instead of "lerge", Mr McSangweej asked for "jes' a meejum, wi' diet coak". That set alarm bells ringing within my heart. I am concerned now that something has happened to Mr McSangweej to make him stop ordering his lerge wi' coak. He is not a young man, and nor does he appear to be particularly healthy. I am worried that he has had some bad news from his doctor, or that he has perhaps seen his rotund form in a mirror and will soon no longer pull up at the drive-thru window to order his McSangweej, thus robbing me of what little joy I had in my work.
As a member of this community I ask you all, please, to pray for Mr McSangweej. If he carks it I will have nobody else to mock until Missus Hippopotamus returns once more with her balloon-headed child to ask for silly meals that we do not supply.
