May I take your mother f*cking order?

Most people that know me know that I love fast food.  I don’t know why.  I just do and don’t you dare judge me.  
So the other day, I go through the Burger King drive through.  The guy that takes my order sounds similar to Napoleon Dynamite....except mopier.  So he’s all mopey sounding, asking me what I want...so I tell him I want a #whatever, with just bacon (of course) and cheese.  I’m still deciding what to drink when he says (remember, he sounds like a super mopey Napoleon Dynamite) “What size and drink and stuff?”.  Ah...what?  What size and drink and stuff?  Who speaks to a customer that way?  People that hate their job (and probably their life), that’s who.  Listen, I understand you hate your job.  I get it, I really do...but, either do your job with some mother f*cking love or find another line of work.  I don’t need your shitty attitude putting me in a bad mood when I’m just trying to get a BK Double Stacker on my way to work!  Then I’m going to go to work and give people shitty hair cuts and it will be ALL your fault.  Then you will have ruined my client's day, plus mine.  Oh, and all my co-workers' day too because they have to deal with my now shitty attitude on account of YOU.  
And what the hell is up with you totally f*cking up my order?  All you have to do is turn up the volume on your headset, take my order, press the keys on the register that have the little pictures on them, take my money, give me my change, and give me my food THE WAY I ORDERED IT!  Really...how hard is it?  I mean, you already work in fast food.....stop making your life worse by sucking at what is probably one of the easiest jobs on the planet.  If you won’t do it, there are others out there that will.  Maybe they will give me my shit the way I order it.  
And that’s real talk, assholes.