"Well, if it was so great, why such a shitty fucking tip?"
"Excuse me?" He said, as if he was astonished by my comment.
"Basically, you gave me only a little bit over ten percent, which sucks! I don't know where you usually dine, maybe Denny's or Carrow's, I have no idea, but that tip was an insult. It was a fucking slap in my face!"
Suddenly it came to my attention that I just screwed up. All I could think about was him calling my boss tomorrow, and me losing my job over this whole incident. Fuck him! He wasn't going to have a chance to even pick up the phone.
He stood there and stared at me in disbelief, like I did something wrong. Hell, I just told him how I felt and he was bent out of shape. And then that's when I did it. I lunged at him and punched him in the stomach as hard as I could. All my force went behind my fist, and he bent forward, clutching his gut. Then I fucking snapped. I lost it. I went crazy.
I grabbed him by the ears and swiftly and with every ounce of force I could muster, brought my knee up and introduced it to his face. I let go of him then and he dropped to the pavement and rolled up into a fetal position. Not knowing what to do, I decided to just let go and lose all self-control. Every shitty tipping, rude, jerk ass motherfucking customer flashed through my mind!
I jumped on top of him and pummeled his face until it was a bloody mess. It was very invigorating, a relief, and a cleansing experience. My self therapy continued as I began smashing his head up and down against the hard concrete. The shit that was going on could have been a scene from the movie, "American History X." His hands were covered in blood as his face became unrecognizable, and then I envisioned something.
To me, his blood was no longer red as it leaked out of him. It was light pink, just like White Fucking Zinfandel! This pushed me over the top, took me to a total boiling point. And then I did something that was even unbelievable to me.
I reached into my apron and pulled out a wine opener, and released the corkscrew. I preceded to shove it right between his eyes. Then I started screwing it in more and more and twisting it like I was opening a nice bottle of wine. I really dug the challenge of the resistance his skull gave me as I went to town on it. He winced and moaned in pain and grunted and gurgled, and I didn't fucking care. He became messier and gorier, and then it was over. He was dead. I would have put a fork in him to signify he was done, but excess isn't my thing.
Not knowing what to do, I quickly looked around and saw the parking lot was empty. I picked up his messy corpse and through it into the dumpster. I then went to my car, grabbed some napkins which were surrounded by empty soda cans, water bottles, Del Taco bags and Lotto tickets, because I never clean my car out, wiped my hands off and threw the bloody cloths away.
I stood there for a second, trying to get a grasp of what just happened, then thought to myself, fuck it. Things happen. I jumped into my little sedan and drove down the street to get an ice-cold lager of my choice. As I sipped on my brew and enjoyed some relaxation after a long night, I saw a bottle of White Zinfandel behind the bar, and actually almost ordered a glass. But that would have been fucked up, because it is “White Fucking Zinfandel.”