: Between the 11:00 p.m. to 3:00 a.m. drunk rush, the dining room is thankfully closed. The drive-thru line makes its way behind the building, and is near the concrete'block enclosure that hides the trash dumpsters. Now, when you've spent all you money on liquor, making mine the only restaurant you can afford, but you're greeted with no bathroom, the dumpster enclosure suddenly becomes a terrific place to urinate!
: Usually, the driver will try to place an order, in a fumbling, drunken way, while a passenger exits the car, heads to the dumpster enclosure, and drains his or her bladder. Unfortunately, they don't seem to realize that there is a surveillance camera, focused squarely on the drive-thru speaker and the dumpster enclosure. When this happens, I like to say, "I see what you're doing in there; shame on you!" or perhaps, "This is the police; come out with your hands up and your pants down!"
: Half the time, the offending carload of drunks will simply leave. Other times, they like to drive to the window and size me up, to see if they could take me in a physical confrontation. When they decide they can't, I sometimes tell the men: "Would you like to Super-Size that while you'r here?"
OK, definately a winner. The police are always frequenting our store. The most recent incident occured when a couple of drunks in their car in my drive-thru lane (yep, it's my lane when I'm working it and don't mess with me!!) thought it might be a cool idea to steal the mail box off our front fence and put it in the boot of their car. Good in theory if you're not seen doing it by the person getting your order together. And so I put all the legal talk on them ("You do realise that theft and verbal abuse are both prosecutable offences. I have the plate number of your car and if you don't put my mailbox back, I won't hesitate in calling the police") and they took off in a screeching hurry. A few minutes later we hear a kind of grinding noise and look out the window to find our drunken friends with their car stuck on the slanted traffic island out the front of our store that divides the inbound and outbound lanes of a very major road.
The end result? One car suspended on a traffic island with the back wheels in the air successfully blocking one inbound and one outbound lane of the highway and three petrified seventeen year olds grovelling at my window to please let them use my phone to ring mummy and daddy to tell them what's happened. I very much don't think so. We closed three minutes ago and company policy forbids me to let anyone in after the doors have been closed, just like it forbids me from letting you steal my mailbox.