Anyway, while I have no desire to try to Double Down, reading about it did sort of make me want to have KFC for dinner, simply because why not, it’s been months and months. Hubs opted for Arby’s instead, which was right nearby; he went through the drive-thru there after dropping me off at the KFC to order for me and the kiddies.

Aaanyway. I guess we got there right after the dinner rush or something, because I had to wait a while after I ordered. No problem, I don’t mind. So I got the drinks (remember when you weren’t expected to fill your own cups at the soda dispensers? And how nice that was? I mean, I know fast food is cheap, but really, if I’m expected to work for my food it should be even cheaper. Sorry if that’s whiney; I’ve worked in fast food and I know how shitty it is, but seriously. It’s just weird to be handed an empty cup. Like I’m being told to get it my damn self if I want a damn drink so bad.)

So I get the drinks and stand at the counter, watching the two or three KFC employees racing around trying to fill orders. There was one guy who ordered before me, and then a Boy Scout troop leader who I guess also ordered before me but had wandered off to do something else. He appeared at the counter beside me, in his little Boy Scout outfit, complete with stupid just-below-the-knee shorts. Seriously, men? Stop wearing those fucking things, you look ridiculous in them. It does not, as you may imagine, provide you with some sort of Devil-May-Care insouciance. It makes you look like some creepy serial killer whose Mommy raised him as a girl. Plus, they make you look short and fat. ALL of you. Those things would make Ryan Reynolds look short and fat, and we all know Ryan Reynolds is built like a god or something. A God of sexy-body-ness:

Note the long pants

You are a grown man. Wear pants.

So anyway, there I am standing next to–a respectful distance from–Mr. Boy Scout Man in his dorky manboy shorts with his gut hanging over them and his militaristic haircut. The KFC guy hands him his tray, which has his little plastic-plated meal on it. Boy Scout Shortfatshorts Man informs the counter guy, a little nastily, that he is also supposed to have a Double Down sandwich (!!Win!!) and a macaroni and cheese. Fine. Counter guy goes to get them. I glance away.

When I look back, BoyScoutFauntleroy has unwrapped his plastic fork and is eating his green beans. Standing up. At the counter. Just shoveling those green beans in, as if he’s in his own home, and there are not people forced to stand right near him and see this.

At first I–trying to give him the benefit of the doubt, because surely no grown man thinks this is okay to do–thought he was just checking to see if they were hot, but no. He ate all of them. In like a minute. While standing there at the counter.

At this point another Boy Scout enters. Turns out he is the owner of the Double Down and the mac and cheese. I can’t tell if he’s also a troop leader or if he’s just a Scout whose leader has decided part of his leadership role is to help the boy win a badge for First Coronary Bypass or something. Anyway, Leader hands him his DD, and the kid’s iPhone falls to the floor.

They both stare at each other. For like ten seconds. Like the kid has just dropped a nude photo of the leader’s wife or a human finger or something. By now, both the red-shirted guy and myself are drawn into this fascinating Scouty drama. Finally Leader speaks. “You dropped your ipod.” Kid says, “Yeah,” and stands there with his Double Down, looking rather stupid, frankly. Leader says, “Are you going to pick it up?” And then they both sort of reach for it, and step back, and reach again. Finally the kid picks it up and skulks off to sit down, clutching his iphone and his sandwich.

Leader returns to his plate at the counter, and demands mayo. Oh boy. Apparently he still has to wait for the mac and cheese, but he’s not wasting any time, oh no. He splits his biscuit. He squeezes an entire packet of mayonnaise onto half of it. My stomach churns (I hate mayo, but since even my mayo-loving hubs has agreed with me that the thought of a mayonnaise-covered biscuit is indeed gross I won’t attribute my disgust at this to my own mayo-loathing). He puts the top back on the biscuit, and eats it. Still standing at the counter in his stupid short pants.

By now I’m trying to look anywhere else to keep from laughing. I’m also, for the first time in my life, being glad that I did not have any boy-children, because the idea that someone who thinks it’s okay to be unnecessarily rude to fast-food employees and eat foods that require forks AND biscuit/mayo sandwiches standing at the counter of a fast-food restaurant while other people are standing right there waiting for their food as well might one day have any sort of influence on a child of mine is truly horrifying. Seriously, is this the calibre of man the Boy Scouts are reduced to these days? Or has it always been like that and I just didn’t know it? I mean, my Girl Scout experiences were less than impressive, to say the least, but I always sort of assumed Boy Scouts got to do cool stuff with Jeremiah-Johnson-esque Real Men, not this rude, gross, stunted dork in Romper Room Playwear.

Thankfully I am spared from having to watch him dig into his chicken. His mac and cheese arrives and he wanders off to finish his meal, while the red-shirt guy and I exchange A Look. His was hysterical, actually, a sort of little frown and headshake that made me giggle a lot.

Then my food arrived–the poor KFC guy gave me a whole extra meal to make up for the wait, which was totally unnecessary because I couldn’t even finish the meal I ordered (popcorn chicken) but was nice. And we headed home, while I reflected on the sad, sad state of the world.