You Want Some IQ with That?

Why are some people so OBLIVIOUS?!! What is it about the stupid gene that makes it survive, even thrive, from one idiotic generation to the moronic next and not be weeded out like the useless mutation that it is? And why is it that when I'm tired, hungry, hot, sweaty, having my tsunami of a period and in a hurry because my Super Plus tampon is about to give out, I get the Ditzy Mother of the Year and her brood of subpar intellectual urchins in front of me in line at Five Guys?

Mom places her burger order and all seems well until the guy behind the counter asks if she wants any fries with her order. Now, remember, the dining establishment of which we speak is called:

Thus, one might not be surprised that they sell fries. Our Rhodes Scholar, however, was apparently astounded. "Fries? Fries? Oh...Oh! Fries! Yeah, I want some fries!" she declared like she'd just discovered a new planet. "Let's see...I want one regular fries, and one Cajun fries, and one...hmmm (as I feel the drips of blood starting to escape their cotton fortress and I try to subtly clamp my legs) one Large fries. So, that's, let's see...2 regular fries but one Cajun, and one Large fries, so that's (I can almost hear the rusty gears clanking in her otherwise empty head) 3 fries!"

After this stimulating exchange, I place my order and go to wait. Mom's two kids immediately start harassing each other, which Mom happily ignores while munching on the free peanuts provided by the burger place. Then the boy, who looks like he'd been swimming in the Gulf and tried to use his hair to staunch the oil spill, starts trying to get Mom's attention by saying "Mom" over and over and over. "Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom...Hey, Mom, Mom, Mom, Hey, Mom, Mom, Mom...." It was like one of those annoying car alarms that no one bothers to turn off.

Finally, the Pest Family's order is up. They are the only ones in the place besides me, and they ordered before I did. So, what does Marie Curie do when her number is called? Nothing! She sits there with a blank look on her face. They call it again. Some dim recognition from the recesses of her addled brain-like structure suggest that maybe this might be her order. She starts scrambling through her purse looking for her ticket to be sure because, you know, since there are only 2 of us, and it's NOT MY ORDER, it's still unclear whether it's her order! She finds her ticket, confirms her order number, and, thankfully, leaves the restaurant (but not before leaving a pile of peanut shells on the table for someone else to clean up!) I hope she gets food poisoning!