Lunchtime blows.

Client food orders.
Yay.
I love translating client's chicken-scratch, only to call and place an order with some moronic bitch. Said bitch inevitably fucks up my order. So, later, my co-worker comes out and tells me his clients are pissed because the order was fucked up.

"Dude. It's not my fault the bitch at Wondee Siam can't write down the words that are coming out of my mouth. Why don't you spank me, Secretary style, and I'll promise to do a better job next time."

FOOD ORDER CONFESSION:
Do you want a side of pasta or salad? Do you want blue cheese or creamy Italian dressing? Do you want that burger cooked medium or well done?

These are all important questions. That's why there's a section on the food order form for peeps to fill in information of this nature.

Clients, being the little bitches that they are, always forget to fill in the details on food orders. So, now, I just order what I feel like ordering. If you can't even fill out the fucking order form that is provided for you, so that I, your little receptionist bitch, can place an order, then fuck you. I couldn't give a shit if you don't like blue cheese muthafucka.