My name is Ronnie D.

So do me a favor, unhappy girl at the Dunkin Donuts…

This morning I decided to get a bagel at the Dunkin Donuts drive-thru window. The young woman behind the counter was making it painfully obvious to me that she hates her job - which sucks - but it’s not my fault.

Within five seconds, she’s got me saying, “I’m sorry” to her for a million different reasons. My car’s too far from the window. She has to stretch. Even when she stretches, it’s still too far cause she’s too short and she has short little arms. She reached out to my window about three times during the brief transaction, every time accentuating her grunting for having to stretch so far to reach my hands which were already extended more than halfway.

Of course, my bagel wasn’t ready when I got there either. So I had to sit at the window with this chick, listening to her complain about what time she’s working till. How it must be nice that the other employee gets to go home. That she would also enjoy working a 7 hour day. That it must be nice to only work a 7 hour day. All the while I started feeling incredibly anxious and guilty, and like I was really glad I brought that Xanax to work today.

Finally, my bagel was ready. She gave me one last exaggerated, squirmy stretch to hand it to me. Then she thanked me in a real sarcastic tone and told me to have a nice day.

What a dick.

I know that service jobs suck. But still.

I worked at Starbucks for longer than should be legal by the federal government. Even with asshole customers, overflowing toilets, losing all sensation in my fingertips from pouring scalding hot espresso shots all day, Legendary Service, and Triple Hot Grande 3 Pump Vanilla, 2 Pump Caramel, 1/2 Breve, 1/2 Soy, Extra Foam Lattes, I never took it out on my customers.

No one knew I hated my job till I started sobbing uncontrollably during my scheduled 10 minute lobby spin and loudly arguing with myself about why I still haven’t joined the Peace Corps. And even then, I was having the conversation with me. Not the poor bastard who needed their latte to be exactly 126 degrees.

So do me a favor, unhappy girl at the Dunkin Donuts, keep things to yourself and don’t cause an emotional chain of events that could cause me to have an episode.

Thanks.