“Wow! You must be rich!”
What? It’s 7:30 in the morning and I’m exhausted. Just give me my Diet Coke. Why are you telling me I’m rich?
“What was that?”
“You’re the girl with the bike, aren’t you? You must be totally rich! You have a motorcycle and a nice car; you’re rich!”
Seriously, what? I AM in the McDonald’s drive through, aren’t I? Or am I just dreaming my whole morning routine and this is some kind of bizarre dream universe in which I am rich that just feels really real? Confused. Tired. Give me my caffeine. You are usually snooty to the extreme with barely a terse word to throw my way in between your eye rolling at my ridiculousness; why the sudden need for conversation about how much money you think I have?
I tried to convince her that no, seriously, I am not rich at all but she wasn’t buying it. I was startled at how much more attentive she was to my needs now that she thought I was rolling in phat lootz, but beyond the fawning and admiration at my dripping-in-jewels person, I was annoyed. That’s rude, yo. Even if I WAS rich – which holy crap I am so not rich at all – commenting on how rich I am and insisting that I am, like, sooo rich! is inappropriate as hell. If I was rich, I would not be in drive through buying breakfast, okay? I would be on a beach somewhere, having nude people service me from head to toe and also pouring me Diet Coke in a solid gold pimp goblet. I would not be sitting in the driver’s seat of the dented, 7-year old Mazdabator while on my way to a job that is presently terrifying and stressful. I fully acknowledge that I am fortunate to have the things I have and the freedom to do what I do, but I wouldn’t consider that rich – and especially not in the pure dollars and cents way she was drooling over. Rich in love, yes. Rich in opportunity, rich in freedom, rich in boobs. Yes. All those things. Money? Not by a long shot.
I miss the nice Chinese lady who always scolds me for not coming through drive through more often. The money grubbing swing manager can just suck it.