meditations on fast food

Today, at lunch, I was starving. I went to a Popeyes...which is surprisingly unusual. I stand there waiting and waiting for someone to maybe stop talking and maybe even greet me. Seems Queesha had quite a night last night.
No one does. So I leave.

 On the way out I hold the door open for a man marching right back in with his food, presumably the wrong food. "Good luck to him," I think.

Next, I drive to Mcdonald's, but there is not a single space in which to park. None.
 What are they serving there? Crack?
 I drive a bit further, about to faint with hunger.

 Oh yes, there's a Burger King...but that's always a sad little place, oh well, at least there's a place to park.

 I get in line.
My cashier is a 60 something white lady with nicotine colored hair and a voice to match. She barks at the small elderly Hispanic man in front of me:
 "Can I take your order?"

He holds up his finger to show a one and the other to show a four.
 "Can I take your order?" she repeats gruffly.
 He points to the number 4 more emphatically.

 "Can I take your order?" she repeats more loudly.

 "I think he wants a number 4," I tell her.
"You want a number four? Or four number ones?" She asks.
He points again to the number 4.
I repeat what he wants.
She asks again, more rudely still: "Can I take your order?"

He walks away, upset.
She seems happy he's left.
 I'm pissed.
I watch him walk across the highway to who knows where.

 As I eat my lonely little burger, with nothing better to do, I listen to the orders.
 Just about everyone who orders begins with "I need..."
"I need a number 1, no cheese, no pickle...." and so forth.
"Need"? Really?
I've never paid attention to this before.
I always preface my order with "I'd like..."
I mean I certainly don't *need* a Whopper Jr.
I'm not even sure I'd *like* it...but it seems the better thing to say.