I will never, ever, EVER visit Fredericton, NB again for the rest of my life. In fact, my life depends on me staying away from this village of inbred, moronic, pathetic stooges. I am likely to be arrested for punching someone so hard that his head pops clean off his neck. An extra indictment would be added for using a human head as a soccer ball and running along the streets with my shirt off and my arms outstretched, yelling "gooooal!"
"Yo, Al, you seem upset" ... fucking right I'm upset! Let me break it down for you. Fredericton was roughly the halfway point from Halifax to Quebec City, during our journey back home. We decided it'd be a great place to stop and have a quick dinner.
After driving around so a.i. could get a shot of the Fredericton legislative assembly (which, by the way, was completely covered in scaffolding, an eyesore that Anth didn't seem to care about as he shot multiple digital shots with his camera and shot multiple cream loads in his pants), we voted 4-1 to eat at Harvey's. I voted for Tim Hortons, which nobody thinks about for dinner, but would most certainly have been the better choice once you learn more about my teeth-grinding encounter.
So we pull into this Harvey's, and it's barren. Everyone must have been at home working on their 1000-piece jigsaw puzzles, or watching Hee-Haw on their VCR, or whatever the fuck they do for fun in Fredericton. The emptyness is an important part of my story.
I walk up to the cashier, and place my order: "one hamburger, and one hamburger combo, with onion rings and a root beer." Easy enough, right? We pay with cash, and the dude hands me my receipt. Innocent enough, right? I throw out the receipt, cuz that's what I do with receipts when I pay cash. Now, here's where things take a turn for the worst.
The guy who's in charge of putting toppings on the burger tells me to "Continue forward, please" ... What the fuck? There's nobody else here. What's the rush? Then, he asks me for my receipt. "Sorry man, I threw out my receipt", I tell him. He rolls his eyes at me ... The fucker rolled his eyes! "Well, what did you order?", He asks me. Fucker, There are only 5 people in line, and I'm at the front of the line. Whatever the fuck you have cooked is mine! I didn't say that, of course, I simply pointed to the two hamburgers behind him, and said, "The two burgers behind you."
So the guy puts what we asked for on our burgers. Great. This fucking bozo is good for something. He places the burgers on the tray, and then stares blindly at the wife and I. Cathy reminds me that she ordered onion rings, so I let dickwad know. He tells me, in the most condescending of voices, "There's nothing I can do without the receipt. You need your receipt for me to know what you ordered." Are you fucking kidding me? Did you graduate from elementary school? Is your job that difficult, really? If you want, I can jump over the counter and fix my own burger. Seriously.
Maybe I can teach you guys a few things. Like, if you really need the receipt, you place it on the tray, instead of handing it to the customer. Or, if you want to avoid getting your ass kicked, you should be mindful of what you say and how you say it.
Fuck you, Fredericton Harvey's. That is all.