The horror continues. So, I mentioned that Marshal Latham has forever ruined himself in my eyes with his diabolical writing contest, the Quordle Quell. I may not have mentioned that poor Big Anklevich also entered the contest.
Well, I was listening to Taylor Swift's new album the other day, and stumbled upon a song called "Karma." I didn't think it was particularly good, but I remembered that one of the words Big was assigned was "karma," and sent him the song. He replied immediately with, "Dude, I'm never gonna dig Taylor Swift. Her teeth are weird to me," and I figured that would be the end of it.
To my surprise, however, Big not only listened to the song, but it gave him an idea for what to write his story about. He told me his thoughts, and it's a pretty cool idea, one with fine potential. Good for him.
As for me, I have neither had any ideas, nor tried for a third time to come up with something. But I went to Burger King yesterday, and when I got there, the sole employee apologized and said, "I'm super understaffed today, so it's gonna be a while." I hadn't eaten all day and it was past two, so I told him I'd stick around and he could get to me when he was ready. I watched him run over to the drive-thru, tell them the same thing, and then go to work on the outstanding orders on his screen. There were seven of them, all of them blinking red (which I assume means they've passed the corporate-allotted amount of waiting time). I surfed the internet while I waited, and then he took my order, and got it out as soon as he could. I ate, and watched the guy run back and forth, telling customers, cars, and a Door Dash girl the situation.
As I finished and prepared to leave, I thought, "What would Marshal Latham have done in this situation, before he lost his soul?" And so I went up to the counter, and told the guy I would help with whatever he needed, mopping the floors or taking out the trash or whatever. He said, "Oh, I can't ask you to do that," and I said, "You're not asking; I'm volunteering." He said, "I already called a guy who's on the way, but thanks anyway." So I left.
But then I thought about when I worked in retail and how much they hammered away at us to get someone to take those damn surveys from the receipts (one of my managers used to ask us to do it, under assumed names, yet hilariously, I was fired and she was not), so I sat in the car and did the phone survey, answering the questions and giving him top marks. It was a little thing, but that's what Marshal would've done.
But then, before I drove away, I thought of what Marshal has become recently, what with the Quordel Quell and all, and asked myself, "What would Marshal do now?" So I shifted back into Park, got out of my car, and threw a big rock through one of the dining room windows.
Anyhow, if you're keeping track at home, the score is Big - 2, Taylor Swift - 1, Rish Outfield - 0.
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