The D-Bags Lunching at Taco Bell

I was out running errands with my mom and she told me she needed some lunch. She asked if we could stop at Taco Bell and get something to eat. We stopped at a restaurant with a wonky layout. See if you can follow along: so, you have the main floor where you order your food and there is lots of seating there and then there's this elevated part that holds 15 or so people and they overlook the lower dining area. My mom and I sat in the lower dining area right next to the elevated part where people could look down on us, over the edge.

We're sitting there eating, minding our own business when suddenly a wadded up straw wrapper goes flying onto my mom's food.

"What the hell?" I exclaimed.


We looked around and realized that it came from up above us. From the upper seating area. We watched and expected to see a little kid poke his head over the wall, but nothing happened. We waited a bit and looked around, but we couldn't see any culprit. We shrugged our shoulders and went back to our meal. A few minutes later, I felt droplets of liquid spray me from above. They hit me on the head and on my food.

"What the ---?" I yell and jump out of my seat.

I go storming up the stairs to the upper level, fully expecting to see a harried mother with three or four little ones who has no idea they're dumping stuff on the unsuspecting people below. I was ready to do the whole, "Hey, hi, I get it, but your kid is throwing stuff over the side, so, could you please ask her to stop? Kthanksbye." Instead, I am greeted by 11 (!!!) six-foot-tall, corn-fed, Midwestern, frat-boy-looking chumps all standing there throwing away their trash.

WHAAAAAT?? Fucking twenty-something pieces of shit are throwing stuff over the side!? Oh hell no! So I did what you would think I would I do.

I began to yell at them.

"What is going on up here?" I demanded. "Someone's throwing stuff over the side."

No one said a word or looked at me. They moved like robots, slowly emptying their trash-filled trays into the bins. Seriously? No one was going to say anything? Nothing??

That's when I went rogue. I cussed them out like no one else.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I asked. "YOU are the ones throwing shit over the side? What the hell?" I was so furious, I was literally quaking as I stood there. If I was Bruce Banner I would have Hulked out at the very moment. If I was Drew Barrymore from Firestarter, I would have burned them to the ground and then shat on their ashes. I was absolutely livid. I couldn't believe it. Grown-ass men throwing shit at people. Actually, I take that back, these infantile, tiny-dicked, sons of bitches should not be called men. They were behaving like a pack of ten-year-olds.

This is where it went wrong. You would think they might look sheepish and say something like, "Sorry ma'am [Yes, normally I would not encourage anyone to call me "ma'am", but now would be a good time to "ma'am" the shit out of me, because nothing else will do], we were messing around and accidentally knocked some stuff over the side" I would have been a lot calmer.

But they didn't.

Instead they all looked at the ground and wouldn't make eye contact with me and then one guy said, all casual, "Yep."

Yep?? What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Yep you hear me? Yep I dropped shit on your lunch? Yep you're a douchebag?

I stood there glaring at them. "Yep? That's it? That's all you've got to say?" I ranted. "What is wrong with you guys? Why do you think that's OK?"

More silence.

"Oh you've got to be fucking kidding me. You stupid pieces of shit. Unbelievable." I stormed down the stairs and away from them before I flipped a table or shoved that fucking Yepper's head into a trash can.

See, the thing is, the first time something fell on us it might have been a mistake. I see how that can happen. You're goofing around throwing stuff at your buddy and then whoops it goes over the side, but they HEARD me. They heard me yell when their trash fell in my mother's lunch. They knew they'd hit us. So then they doubled down and threw liquid over the side. That is unacceptable. Fuck you, assholes!

I stood at the bottom of the stairs fuming. Still trying to decide if I should make a bigger scene. On the one hand, they were big fucking dudes and I talk all tough about punching throats, but I've never actually hit or been hit by anyone in my life and I didn't want to start now by getting the beat down by these guys, but the place was packed, were they really going to do something if I provoked them? On the other hand, people get shot for this sort of shit. I watch the news. I see how people shoot one another over an acceptable time to mow your lawn (not after 8 PM), but how did they know I wasn't the one packing heat??! (I wasn't and it's probably a good thing, because I probably would have at least pistol-whipped fucking Yepper, assuming I could reach that high.)

Instead of acknowledging me, they all filed past me and made a beeline out the door.

I was livid, but I didn't really know what to do. Taco Bell doesn't have a maitre d' I can complain to and they were leaving, so trying to get them thrown out wasn't going to make a difference. So instead, I just glared and yelled a few more choice words at them as they left. I can't remember exactly what I said, but I'm sure I questioned their mother's parenting abilities and encouraged them to fuck themselves. A couple of construction workers who were watching the whole thing go down blushed at my vocabulary. You know what? Fuck them too. I'd like to see how they would have reacted if they were the ones with shit thrown at them? Oh wait, those neanderthals didn't choose to throw stuff at the burly construction workers, instead they picked on the middle-aged woman in mom jeans and the lady drinking her senior citizen-discounted coffee.

I went back to my table and I couldn't stop shaking. This happens when I get super duper angry. I can't control it. It doesn't happen a lot, but when it does, it's a real problem. I literally vibrate. My mom was amazed. She's seen me mad before, but not like that. She's heard me cuss before, but not like that. I sat there getting madder and madder.

It wasn't just about the trash now. It was more than that. It was about the way the whole group of them reacted. All 11 of those assholes stayed quiet. What a bunch of sheep! You know 11 guys didn't throw stuff at us. You know that it was one or two of them, but the others just stayed quiet and let them do it. They never said, "Knock it off" or "Stop messing around." Nope, they probably egged them on, laughing and jeering while their two moronic buddies chucked stuff over the side.

And then when I confronted them, not one person spoke up and apologized for their friend's behavior. I don't know who is worse. The culprits or the silent sheep! Idiots who think it's funny to throw trash at women or weak little boys who don't have a backbone!

I thought that was the end of them, but I was wrong. After lunch my mom and I needed to go to a store across the street. We headed over there and who should be hanging out the parking lot comparing man buns with one another (OK, only two of them actually had man buns, but still they were admiring them closely. Fucking twats.) but the 11 douchebags. Well, what do you know?!

Helloooo boys!

I pointed them to out to my mother and Yeppers saw me. He got a big shit-eating grin on his face and waved at me. Taunting me.

My brain shut down entirely. A loop played in my head: JENNI MAD! JENNI CAVE MAN MAD!

And then that scene from Fried Green Tomatoes played in my head. You know the one with Kathy Bates where she's waiting for the parking spot and two hot young thangs whip in and get the spot first and so she bashes their car with hers??? Yeah, that scene.

But instead of bashing their stupid cars to pulp, I did what anyone would do. I flipped them the bird as I drove by and suggested again that go fuck themselves, repeatedly.

But then I was a tad afraid to park my car for fear they'd Kathy Bates ME, and ruin my sweet ass minivan, so I sent my mom into the store to get what she needed while I circled the lot. Giving them a disapproving glare each time I drove by their hangout.

Now, I know that none of this made any sort of impression on these boys. Nor did it help them see the light. I know they didn't go home and feel bad about themselves. They think they're young and fun and so much cooler than two old ladies with trash in their lunches. They weren't bothered for one moment that some middle-aged woman in a minivan was telling them to go to hell. In fact, I'm guessing they'll dine out for months on this story. "Dude, dude, let me buy you a drink and you can tell us again about the crazy suburban mom who was going to run you over in the minivan in the Taco Bell parking lot. It's hilarious, man."

I was outraged by the way they behaved. I'm shocked at their behavior. These are 11 young men who couldn't speak up and take responsibility for their actions. I'm not asking them to buy my meal, I'm simply asking for them own up to the mistake they made and to apologize -- sincerely. This is something we all try to instill in our children. We want our kids to grow up and be good citizens of the world and the first step is owning your up to your actions. I'm constantly on my kids to behave properly and to make good choices, but if they don't make a good choice, then it's always going to go worse for them if they don't own that bad choice. All these 11 young men needed to do was admit they made a poor decision and apologize, but instead they punked out. They acted liked entitled bratty assholes who have never been made to be responsible for their actions and that is what made me fly into a rage. I've seen toddlers with better manners. Instead, they skulked by me and ran out the door, barely containing their laughter at the situation.

Should I blame these young men or do I blame their upbringing? Did their parents raise them to be douchebags or is that just in their genes? My first instinct when I see a bratty child is to blame the parent, but those are usually much younger children who "don't know better." These young men were clearly college-aged and thus, should "know better." I only hope that if my son is out there some day being an asshat, a middle-aged mom cusses him out and asks him, "Did your mother raise to behave like this?" Because she didn't.

Sure, it wasn't my finest moment and my mother is still itching to wash my mouth out with soap, but it had to be done. Someone had to tell those asshats to grow up and I was there and not very busy, so I did it for all of us. And I'd do it again.

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