No can roll up rim to win

Bob Morrissey

Even though I’ve spent a lifetime taking liberties with the English language, it still rankles me when others do — which is why my recent visit to a Tim Hortons drive-thru left such a bad taste in my mouth.

It was three o’clock in the afternoon. I was their only customer.

“I’ll have the sausage/egg combo,” I say into the speaker to the woman taking my order.

“No can do,” she says. “You’re four hours too late. The breakfast menu ends at 11.”

“Why?” I ask.

She replies, “No can tell.”

“Why can’t you tell?” “No can say.”

See why I’m rankled? This girl is short-wording me, leaving huge gaps in sentences. What’s the rush? It’s not like this genius is running late for a physics class.

This is so weird I figure she’s putting me on. So I throw her a curve.

I say, “Okay, so the breakfast menu is over; what about the special beer-drinkers’ menu?”

“There’s no such thing,” she says. Then: “Don’t tell me you’re a lush AND a jerk.”

“Yup, I’m half in the bag right now.”

“Where’s the other half?”

I let it pass. No sense getting vulgar. I’m happy with my little lie.

“You don’t sound drunk,” she says. “You just sound crazy.”

There’s a little shiver in her voice.

“You aren’t a mean drunk, are you?”

“Are you kidding? I’m a loose cannon. When I’m in my car at McDonald’s, I try and run over the seagulls when I’m leaving.”

Now I’ve crossed the line. She wants me to order and skidoo.

“Just tell me what you want,” she says.

But I’m not going quietly. The needle’s only half in.

“Well, I want something light,” I say. “Something easy on my digestive system.”

“What’s that?” she asks.

“It’s a group of organs that work ….”

“No,” she snaps. “I mean what about the food?”

I say, “Well, maybe cotton candy … or some nuts or grapes. And tofu.”

At the mention of tofu, she thinks I’ve said the F-word and is livid. “Say that one more time and I’m getting my boss. He’ll punch you silly, if that’s even possible.”

“I dare you!” I say.

With that I hear her storm off and all’s quiet for a minute or so. I’m not worried. Hopefully, the guy’s small; like a Timbit. Last time I fought the guy was scared beyond belief: he thought he killed me.

When she returns, she says, “You’re lucky. He can’t come.”

“Why not?” I ask.

“It’s time to make the donuts.”

I check my rearview mirror and I’m still the only car in line. But now I’ve lost my appetite. All I want is out. As I’m about to scoot off, I hear a man’s voice through the speaker; it’s one of the bosses and he’s angry … and yelling at the girl.

“This is the third time your school’s called. You’re late for physics. Get moving!”