Like the end of Ghostbusters, but streaked with blood
"Through high school and into college, I worked at a hot dog stand in Chicago called Fluky's. Somewhat surprisingly, it was a great job. The employees were a mix of high school students, burnouts, and illegal immigrants, and when we weren't just eating ridiculous amounts of food in the back, we generally just horsed around, drinking and smoking pot in the alley. I mean, everyone else drank and smoked pot -- I was way too boring in high school. Anyway, if the owner wasn't in the office, nothing would get done.
"So one Saturday, I'm working the drive-thru and it's slammed. We'd just gotten it put in, and it was the only hot dog place within miles with a drive-thru, so if anyone wanted a hot dog and didn't want to get out of the car, we were it. These were the days before electronic orders, so we had to call burgers and Polish sausage into the grill, and get the rest ourselves.
"In the middle of this huge rush, these guys come through the drive-thru. The owner of the place was in the office, and the drive-thru was piped in there, so he heard everything. They ordered a ton of food: burgers, fries, and drinks. The order came out to over $30, which in 1993, was a crap-load of food. In the middle of the rush, it took forever, and the cars were backed up the entire length of the drive-thru. There was a curb, so there wasn't even a way to pull out, and the lot was filled, so there was nowhere for them to go. It took about 10 minutes to get their food, which is an eternity on the drive-thru, with cars honking behind them and people coming up to the window to yell at us.
"I finally have their order ready, and I read it back to these two guys, probably college students, definitely stoned. I get about halfway through, and the driver says, 'Oh, wait, no. That was what we wanted to get at McDonald's.' They then drive away, leaving bags of food behind.
"The next half-hour is hell, with dozens of incredibly pissed-off customers to deal with. I'm apologizing and calling the manager over constantly. Then I hear a familiar voice over the drive-thru: it's the same guys, laughing and placing a second huge order, this time for hot dogs, Italian beefs, and shakes. Again, it all goes to hell. Everything takes forever, and I've got eight large handmade shakes to make, each of which is a multi-step process. That alone takes 15 minutes, at the end of which the first few shakes have melted. Finally, they arrive at the window, I've got their order ready, I'm dripping with sweat and the floor is littered with wrappers and food. I lean out, give them the total, and the driver laughs.
"'What took so long? Anyway, I forgot my wallet, so just cancel the order.'
"I can barely understand what he said, it's so inconceivable that he would do that. After a couple seconds, someone plugs my brain back in and I see red. Like, literally. I used to get nosebleeds, and one suddenly goes off, and blood is streaming down my face. I turn to the counter, pick up a four-count tray of large chocolate shakes, and hurl it through the window into their car. It exploded magnificently, and I had dripped blood into it as well. The inside of their car looked like the end of Ghostbusters, streaked with blood. They start screaming, and I just turned around, bloody and covered with the splashback of chocolate shake, dripping sweet.
"The owner comes out to yell at me, takes one look at me, and just sends me on break. The entire incident was never spoken of again." -- Greg Taurian