Mikey (neomikey) wrote,
Mikey
neomikey

The other day, I had an amusing encounter at Tim Horton's. Others might have been upset at it all, but I found it quite entertaining! What happened was...I received terrible service! :D

It was a smaller place in an open market, so only one person was working there -- an older lady who virtually ignored me the first thirty seconds I was standing in line while she was organizing her money, only then to briefly glance at me and give me a, "...what do you want?" She definitely wasn't very personable, hardly said a word to me, and generally ignored me the whole time, even when she found the hot smoothee machine to be busted and its parts requiring disassembly and washing (which took roughly five minutes). During that entire time, watching her, I couldn't help but think to myself, "Wow...this is terrible! This is some of the worst customer service I've ever received! Awesome, this doesn't happen to me every day!!" I think it's possible the entire ordeal lasted ten minutes, though it might have been a couple minutes shorter. Finally, without much exchange of words except to tell me the price, she handed me the hot smoothee and pointed to the donut rack behind her. "Have a donut for taking so long," she muttered, again barely audible. She insisted and I didn't want to seem rude. It's nice to find unexpected treats like this :) ...oh, um, and this was nowhere around where I live, so nobody worry about having to deal with her any time soon ;D

Then I went home.


I stood in the middle of the ring, my chest heaving from breathing too hard while gripping the microphone harder than was likely safe for the warranty. My shirt originally belonged to a five year-old, so that way my bulging muscles were perfectly shown off underneath. Some considered me deformed, some accused me of taking steroids...but I crushed their skulls when they mouthed off to me anyways. Around me the crowd was going wild as I advertised the upcoming match.

Speaking (which consisted of yelling each word) into the mic, "And tonight!! I...Major Mayhem...will win the WWE Smash Melee Champion title! Nothing can stand in my way of achieving that belt. That belt...is mine!!" I made sure to flex, causing muscles everywhere to pop out, some of which I'm sure were born into existence right then just to bulge out. "I!! Have come this far...and if anyone thinks I'll stop now...then they...have another thing...comiiiiiing!!" Right then I grabbed my shirt and tore it open. And the crowd went berserk.

That was when the lights went out. "Whoah, whoah, wait a minute!" came a woman's voice over the loud speaker. "You think...that you're...going to win?!" The lights came on, revealing her...my opponent, Destructa. She had achieved the World's Strongest Woman Or I'll Kill You title for the past five years, and she definitely had the muscles to match. "Now, Mister Mayhem--"

"Major Mayhem!!" I corrected.

"Shut up when I'm talking to you!!" she screamed back. "You...you think...you can beat meeeee?! Hah!!" She climbed into the ring. The crowd was going mindlessly crazy, as per usual. She pointed at me. "You're joking, aren't you?! And exactly...exactly what sort of Smash Melee skillz...do you think you possess?! Puny man, I will walk!! All!! Over youuuuu!!"

I growled, then pointed back at her. "I refuse!! To let!! You!! Talk to me like that!! We'll settle this...here!! And!! Nowwww!!!!1!! Someone get a ref out here!!" Things are oh-so-readily available in the WWE and within the next few seconds, a man in black and white stripes joined us in the ring. Meanwhile, the commentators to the side were matching our silly enthusiasm, talking miles per second as if this was the match that would end the world.

We were handed our weapons, each of us glaring at each other, breathing so heavily we might as well have been running a marathon. "Ref!!" I screamed. "Turn on!! That Gamecube!! Now!!" The button was pressed and we turned to the large tv, ready to engage the other in deadly mortal combat and to leave no survivor in our wake. ...that was when nothing happened.

Destructa growled and lurched over to the Gamecube, popping the top open. She grabbed the microphone and then towered over the referee. "Where! Is! The game?!" He spastically tried to answer, but then Destructa grabbed his head with one hand, picked him up, and threw him out of the ring. I stomped over to her, spontaneously having generated a microphone in my hand. "How are we supposed to have a match without the game?!" I yelled at her, the veins and tendons in my neck sticking out. She turned to me, yelling in reply, "We'll just...have to...have our match...laterrrr!!" I held up my hand in front of me, closing it into a fist. "Do you...want...to go grab a bite to eat?!" She looked at me, eyes squinting so hard it looked like she was trying to keep them from exploding out of her head. "That...sounds...gooood!!"

That was when I yelled my approval, crushing the microphone in my fist in a flurry of sparks and plastic. We slid out of the ring, then stomped towards the exit, while the fans (all of whom being from south Tennessee) yelled crazily, waved to the camera, and tried to show off their posterboard signs which ranged from "Major Mayhem pwnz!!!!!!!!!!!!!" to "John 3:16." And the WWE would have had that promo go no other way.

And that's exactly how it all happened.
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