>Steve and Eric are placing an order at the Taco Bell™ counter while Steven notices that the cashier has half of his shirt untucked
>in glaring at the absolute carelessness of the employee, Eric decides to go ahead and order for his brother
>when prompted to pay $15.67, Eric's face becomes puzzled and asks why it isn't being comped
>"I-I'm sorry, sir, but we're not at a casino..." says the 18-year old, pimpled face, cashier
>frustrated, Eric hands over a $20 and says to keep it because his family is above carrying change
>Steve always chooses a booth in the corner where he can view the counter as well, as Steven wanted to know exactly how many times the employees of Taco Bell™ made a mistake
>as they are about to sit down, they notice there's a puddle in one of the seats, and stomp over to the next booth, a booth Steve didn't pick, and get adjusted
>while sitting, Steve notices that the cashier who took their order places a tray with 8 crunchy tacos on the counter and walks off
>looking around, Steven notices that he and his brother are the only patrons in the store
>Steve glares into the back of the house, waiting to make eye contact with any of the employees
>he couldn't believe that the employee did not run over with their order and a number of each sauces, plastic forks and knifes, and napkins
>he thought to himself 'What kind of fucking establishment doesn't bring the fucking food over?!"
>Eric caught the glare of Steve and knew that he had to do something
>he himself would love to comp a bullet or two in the back of the cashier's head, but they have plans at the concert tonight
>so Eric tells Steve that he has to go to the restroom, and will pick the food up when he's done
>but this doesn't satisfy Steve
>"What if our fucking tacos are ice cold by that time? They have to remake our fucking order, give us a refund, comp us on our next visit, AND BRING THE FUCKING TACOS OVER!"
