I’ve never been a really opinionated person.
But, then, y’all already knew that about me.
I do have an opinion, though, on this one thing. In the words of Over the Hedge’s gracious and lovely skunk, Stella, “I’ve been holdin’ somethin’ in…and I’m about to let it out.”
Here are facts you should know as background before engaging in reading my (very rare) rant:
1. I only drink water. A few years back I had a little addiction to a certain caffeinated, diet beverage. It’s not the worst thing in the world to be addicted to, but it was messing with my chi. One Monday, I went cold turkey off the sauce. I’ve been clean (read: drinking water only) for four years next month.
2. I drink alot of water. Gallons a day.
3. I like my water icy…so cold it hurts my teeth. My mom says it masochistic, like the ‘burn’ from the Carmex. I’m okay with that.
4. I love to eat ice. The cold, the crunch, no calories. It’s a win-win-win.
From time to time (at least once daily), I enter a fast food establishment or pull through the drive-thru of one in search of ice water. I know they offer bottled water, but I’m not interested. It doesn’t hurt my teeth enough. Plastic is not a conductor.
I pull up/walk in and say, “I’d like a large, ice water, please.” This is usually accompanied by an, “I’d like a Double Stack and a Frosty for the Diva.” And also by, “I’m willing to pay for the water, if I need to.”
Unfailingly, the clerk looks at me, smiles, and says, “No, that’s okay. No charge for the water.” And then he/she proceeds to give me a cup of water that’s about the size of those cups they give you to pee in when you go to the gynecologist.
Clearly I ordered a large, ice water. Clearly he/she didn’t hear me clearly. Clearly there’s been a mistake.
I hand the pee cup of water back and say, gently (for me, anyway), “I’d like a large, please,” smile, and then remind them that I’m willing to pay. Since they’ve already rung up my order, they don’t want to mess with the payment again.
At this point, things start to go downhill.
Now, I’m holding up the line. It’s all my fault, somehow.
The clerk always lets out a big sigh, which is usually accompanied by a dramatic eye roll. One thing is obvious to me: the clerks have no idea who they are messing with. I’ve raised children. I’ve worked with teenagers. Alot. Eye rolls and sighing don’t trip my trigger.
Sometimes, the pimple-faced clerk makes the mistake of handing me a medium-sized cup of water once I’ve returned the pee cup for the large. When this happens, the Diva backs far away from me because she knows what is about to happen: I’m going to get atypically calm. Atypical calm is not good on me. I smile, remind the clerk that I ordered a large and that I’m willing to pay for it, yet again, because clearly he/she has hearing challenges, and wait for the even more dramatic eye roll and sigh.
Eventually, I always get my large, ice water. Atypical calm, accompanied by extreme patience rooted in a strong desire for masochistic water, wins every time. However, I’m sure that if I ordered a large soft drink, I would have no, such problem. I would not have had to endure the eye roll/sigh, I would not have been holding up the line, I would not have been handed my drink in a pee cup.
I don’t understand. In a world where we encourage people to be more healthy, our choices don’t seem to support that. It’s not like I’m not willing to pay for it, either. I should not have to dread attempting to get my ice water, dadgummit! Tawanda!
In short, it’s discrimination at its best. I’m thinking of starting a coalition: Water Drinkers of the World, the WDW. First, I need financial backing. Anyone?
I should say that there are two, very gracious fast-food establishments which do not harass me over my water addiction. I encourage you to frequent them. They are the following:
My life-long dream is to own a machine that makes Sonic ice. For $0.33, I can have a giant cup of icy goodness with no eye roll or sighing, served to me by a carhop on roller skates, for Pete’s sake.
When I go to Chick-fil-A, I’d much rather have a strawberry shake, with chunks of real strawberry, but I settle for the ice water. And they don’t give me any hassle. They hand over the goods, I thank them, and they respond, “My pleasure,” in typical Chick-fil-A style.
Am I alone in this? Is it just me? Because, if it is, well, nothing’s gonna change. I just need to know.