“Excuse me, are you the manager?” 99.9% of the time, any conversation that begins with that question means I’m about to be walloped by a haymaker of a shitstorm. This, of course, wasn’t one of those other .1% moments. “Yes Sir, I am. How may I help you?” He shot lightning bolts at me with his eyes. “I ordered thirty minutes ago, and I didn’t think this was the kind of place you’d have to wait forever just to get a damn hamburger,” he erupted. “The girl keeps telling me it’ll be right out, but I’m still waiting and my kids are hungry and blah blah blah.” “My apologies, Sir. If you give me a moment, I’ll check with the kitchen and…” “I don’t have time for that shit,” he interrupted. “I can’t believe it takes thirty minutes to cook a damn hamburger, for Chrissakes!” Just then the food runner walked by with an armful of food, destined for his table. “Sir, I believe that’s your order being delivered now and…” “Well, it’s about damn time,” he interrupted again. And with that he gave me the hand and huffed off back to his table. Now here’s the thing about complaining about food taking too long in restaurants. When a server rings your order in, a printer in the kitchen spits out what is called a chit which is what the kitchen staff uses to cook your food from. However, on the chit is also printed the time the server rang the order in. This primarily serves as a check and balance system, allowing the restaurant to monitor cook times and make sure everything stays on track. It’s also a way to let the staff know if someone is lying about their order taking longer than it actually is. I walked back into the kitchen to check Mr. Thirty Minute Hamburger’s chit. The kitchen received it at 6:59 p.m. and the food was delivered at 7:10 p.m. According to the clock on the wall, hamburger guy received his order eleven minutes after placing it, nineteen shy of the half hour he ballistically claimed it took. So at that point I did the only reasonable thing I could. I sent the fucktard a quart of elephant crap in the mail. In addition to allowing college students to plagiarize their way through school and providing boner pill access to dudes without insurance, the one thing the internet has given us is creative ways to anonymously exact revenge on the miscreants of the universe who used to be able to walk away from their shenanigans unscathed. Enter: PoopSenders.com. For anywhere between $12.95 and $23.95 (plus shipping), the benevolent people at PoopSenders will send either a quart or gallon of either their finest cow, elephant or gorilla dung to the recipient of your choice to savor and enjoy at their leisure. Each package contains a business card strategically placed in the poop informing the victim (er…recipient) that they have been pooped on anonymously. Just when I begin to think there’s no god, something like this comes along and reminds me that divine intervention may be a possibility after all. But the fun doesn’t stop there. The online revenge industry is in full bloom. If gorilla dung is a little too exotic for your olfactory taste buds, the good folks at DogDoo.com and Mailpoop.com will happily ship gourmet samples of canine feces to whomever you think would appreciate it most. And if crapola is a little too inappropriate for your gift giving needs, the fine people at Masters of Revenge (dotcom) will gladly send a varied assortment of used condoms, tampons, jars of urine or soiled panties to that special deserving someone in your life. I know, I’m fucking immature and pathetic. The thought of some unsuspecting – though extremely deserving – nob curiously opening a package of cow crap in the comfort of their home not knowing where it came from or why makes me laugh every damn time. And here’s why. The service industry is overly populated with greasy-tainted sausagelumps who masquerade as customers. These are the cowards who jump at any opportunity to verbally abuse and degrade employees who essentially have no option but to stand there and take it should they choose to continue to remain employed. I’ve lost count of how many words I’ve had to eat over the years after having just received a tongue lashing from some spineless crab infestation about how they didn’t get this or that in the unrealistic time frame they expected it. I’ve been threatened and yelled at by more malcontents than a fan wearing a visiting jersey at an Oakland Raiders football game. I now poop in stereo due to the second asshole I’ve been ripped by the numerous cockwads pandering for a complimentary corporate gift certificate at my expense. And every time I had to stand there and respond with a “yes sir no sir I’m sorry sir may I have another please.” Enter: The glory that is technology. Go ahead. Be an asshole for no other reason than because you can. And whatever you do, impress me, your date and everyone around you by whipping out your platinum American Express card to pay for your excess. Congratulations. I have your name. And in this age of internet White Pages, that’s all I need to find your address. The shit, literally, is about to fly in your direction. Here’s the deal. Getting mad at assholes doesn’t do a goddamned thing other than make me drink more. Before the internet, any cunt with a vendetta could piss on my head and all I could do was thank them for the warm shower. I’d end up cursing their cowardice behind their back while knowing they got away scott free and empowered to torment the next minimum wage sucker who happened to be next in their bend over and take it line. After a while you sort of become impervious to the beat downs that mostly come out of nowhere, letting them bounce off your thick skin and taking them as personally as someone who just got caught unexpectedly in an earthquake. Some people are born with the jerk gene and that’s just the way it is. But that doesn’t mean they should be allowed to get away with it. So go ahead. Give me shit unnecessarily. I’ll take your crap with a smile like I always do, only this time I’ll see to it a special delivery of elephant poop finds its way to your doorstep and we’ll call it a wash. Or if you prefer, be a dick for no good reason and get rewarded with a used condom. Opt for being an ass just because you can, and some soiled underwear will be your just desserts. Or, you could just do what most normal people do when they go out and behave in a civilized manner and treat the people serving you with the type of respect and courtesy you expect in return. Just remember…You can give me all the shit you can muster, but poop is my new best friend.