Moneybags: Hey, Spiffy! I need my refills. Here's one of my bottles...
He threw the empty script bottle toward the pass-through, missing by a wide margin. He always has one bottle with him for one of the refills that he's already called in. It's only one bottle, even if he has multiple refills. I can't figure out why. The bottle bounced off the passthrough and fell to the ground near his car.
Moneybags: Motherfucker.
He said it in an almost contemplating tone, as if he was trying to figure out how he'd gone wrong. He put his fancy Lex in reverse and started to back up. He suddenly stopped and stuck his head out the window.
Moneybags: Where the... motherfucker.
This time, he almost breathed the curse so I could barely hear it. He continued to back up until he had enough room to get his door open and got out. He walked toward the empty bottle and swung his foot at it with grim determination. He missed.
Moneybags: Motherfucker. Mother... (cocking his leg back for a hearty kick) FUCKER!
This time he connected with the bottle, sending it spinning across the drive through lane and careening off the curb. I was absolutely speechless. He looked like a five year old throwing a tantrum. I would have been laughing if I hadn't been so taken aback.
Moneybags: Fucker.
He walked calmly over to his confrontational bottle, picked it up, and walked back to the pass-through. Calmly, he placed it in the pass-through.
Moneybags: I'm getting back in my car now.
Me: OK.
I wonder what had him so riled up. I thought about asking if someone had broken into his trunk and taken his bankroll. I decided it would be wiser not to. I didn't want to end up in there.
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