A few days ago, too tired to cook four ourselves, Angelface and I made the unfortunate decision to go foraging for fast food.

And I know what you’re thinking. You’re panicked, because the Nutrition Nazi ate food that was not organically grown and omega3-enriched. Well, if it makes you feel any better, we chose a “healthier” chain that offers vegetarian and wheat-free options for more conscientious patrons, like moi.

And if you really want to click your heels with glee, you’ll be interested to know the fact that I was “good” and didn’t have a full-on, bust-your-gut and damage-your-liver hogfest, didn’t mean a thing. At the end of the night, after enduring a series of unnerving theatrics, I still had that good old fashioned, fast food feeling. You know the one – It starts with guilt and remorse, and then inevitably ends up with you riding bareback on the porcelain pony, making rapid-fire deposits from your six-shooter into the toilet bowl.

But I (and my diarrhea) digress.

So I think it should’ve been a red flag that when I walked into the store, the first thing I saw was an entire seating area taken up with trash. The makeshift landfill was littered with leftover napkins, food containers, utensils and plastic trays. Even the freaking garbage can had overflowed, giving it the appearance of some sort of trash-eating monster that had vomited all over itself.

Despite having witnessed the health hazard fast escalating in Seating Section B, Angelface and I still ventured towards the register. The pimply faced 16-year-old stationed there didn’t immediately take our order. He was too busy complaining about how hungry he was and how he was supposed to be done working a half hour earlier.

And I felt guilty. After all, I knew what it was like to be hungry –while Zitty Face and another employee, we’ll call him Stir Shit Up, (because that was his only discernable job function), participated in a lengthy discussion about how much working late sucks, I was fairly starving.

So yeah, at long length the discussion died down and I was able to put my order in. While waiting for said order, an argument broke loose between the night manager and that stupid ass, bobble-head, Stir Shit Up.

Apparently dumb-as-bricks, SSU, thought that having someone “on the fries” at night, was not necessary, and must’ve felt it was a great injustice to be asked to perform this task, because he yelled across the kitchen at his manager that he wasn’t going to do it.

Night Manager, taking a page from his idiotic protégé’s book, yelled back that yes, damn it, someone had to be “on the fries” until 8pm each night.

Then the two of them proceeded to have a lengthy, verbal pissing match.

As I watched the two of them bicker back and forth like Jews in a gem store, I thought to myself “Oh good lord. If I had wanted to attend dinner theater, I could’ve gone to Medieval Times. At least there this type of battle royale is preceded by a visit from the Beer Wench.”

So in the interim of this bitchy little tiff, the production of Angelface’s hamburger by the night manager had come to a halt. Only when Angel yelled into the kitchen, “Hey can you stop arguing long enough to make my sandwich?” did the bickering stop.

And then, because it needed to be done, I yelled “You – freaking back-talking, plebian employee, take off your paper hat. You’re fired buddy!”

…Well actually, I didn’t really yell that. But I sure did want to.

Anyway, even after receiving our food, a myriad of horrors continued to occur, the most disgusting of which was witnessing the french fry scoop being used as a tool for trash compacting. When I saw the scoop go into the trash, and then back into the french fry, well it made my stomach churn… And then, when I saw that same scoop being used to put fries in a container that was handed to a customer, I had no choice but to throw up in my mouth a little.

So I’ve written my grievance down and sent it to the restaurant headquarters. I’ll keep you all posted, dear hannihaus readers. In the meanwhile, why don’t you share some of your horror stories with me? I need something to cheer me. Hurricane Wilma’s headed this way, and I’ve got house cleaning to do. Double d’oh.