Red Light Chicken Sandwich

      I slammed on the breaks and smothered the steering wheel's horn as the car sped through the intersection. The break pedal is not smooth when you stop that quickly. It bumps and grinds as if you were stepping on resistant gravel.  Maybe I need to get new breaks. I looked up at the green light ahead of me and the thought occurs, later than one would think. That guy just ran a red light.
      Life has trained me to never be too sure of myself. I have known to be wrong. So when I an event happens that would provoke a strong reaction, I tend to take a moment to either find out more detail or to double check whether I have not done something wrong myself. Thus, the double checking of the green light.  Once that was verified, I looked around to notice pedestrians holding up their hands with palms up and mouthing "what the fuck?" or other such comments.  The offending vehicle abruptly pulled into a parking lot.
      After a moment, I took a breath and continued on my way. I won't lie, I certainly was shaken by the experience.  Anything that gets your adrenaline pumping is going to leave your hand less than steady than it was before. But I wouldn't say I was angry. The traffic lights of downtown Seattle have a way of blending in. When I first started driving downtown there had been more than one occasion where I have almost missed a red light myself. I guess it happens.
     Later however, I was not able to keep my cool so gracefully.  After my wine tasting I went to a McDonald's and even though there were two registers, the lines of people had converged into one. In narrow spaces, i.e. a downtown establishment, it is just easier and more natural for people to form one line and then when the cashier opens up the next person steps up. I also find this approach more fair. You could be in one line with either a talkative person or perhaps a new employee and even though you've been in line longer the people in other lines blaze right passed you.
     Abruptly, one of the employees, a scraggly, scruffy, thin, and almost old man, yells out "TWO REGISTERS TWO LINES! It's not that hard people." For some reason this condescension inflamed me.  I look back and see how the seating area cuts into the area that the proposed multiple line theory would necessitate.  Seconds later a third cashier opens a register. Now the newly formed two lines must attempt to shuffle into three lines and then ultimately back to the original one line.
     I get to the front of the line. "A Southern chicken sandwich. Just the sandwich." (Because they always have to offer you the meal.) To which the woman replies, "Crispy or grilled?" Me: "I wasn't aware the Southern chicken sandwich came grilled." (The Southern chicken sandwich is a rip off of Chick Fil A's sandwich. It's really the only fast food I'll eat. And it doesn't come grilled.) Woman: "You wanted the number 8?" Me: "Yes." "You said number 7." "No I didn't I said the Southern chicken sandwich." "Do you want the meal or..." "Just the sandwich."
     Car speeding through a red light potentially costing me much pain, permanent injury, and thousands of dollars in bills and repairs? Meh. Someone at a McDonald's talking down to me? I want to rip their fucking heads off.