A friend and I walk into the McDonalds in Adams Morgan early on a Saturday morning to pick up breakfast before heading out for the day. Adams Morgan boasts the biggest club scene in DC, and this is a very busy McDonalds. On Saturday mornings especially, it caters to both early Saturday risers and those who haven't gone to sleep yet from the night before.
My friend stands on one line and I stand in the other, and we both do the rolling-eye thing when we realize that this Saturday morning is going to be special. There's something in the air. Aah yes. The morons are out in force.
So when I finally get to the head of the line, I am ready. "Number 1 with orange juice," I say, and that should be the end of it.
"Orange juice?" repeats the cashier, as if it is inconceivable that anyone would want to drink anything but boiling hot coffee at 6:00 a.m. on a Saturday.
"Yes," says I, and I repeat, "a number 1 with orange juice."
Remarkably, she gets the order right.
The cash register reads $3.52, so I hand her a ten and then start counting out the 52 cents. This takes me less than five seconds, yet in that time she has already input $10.00 into the register. Now at this point I face a decision. I can suck it up and deal with having to carry around extra change, or I can give her the 52 cents and hope she can do math. I go with option 2. The worst that can happen, I think, is that she'll mess up and give me six instead of seven.
She stares at me. Then looks at the register telling her to give me $6.48. Then looks at the 52 cents in her hand. Then back at the register. She squints her eyes. She reaches into the drawer and comes up with...
Three dollars and two cents.
Now let's do some math, shall we?
$10.00
+ .52
---------
$10.52
OK! That one couldn't be that hard! Now let's try subtraction.
$10.52
- 3.52
---------
$ 7.00
Now, I ask you. On what planet does $10.52 minus $3.52 equal $3.02? This is not the hard stuff, people. I wracked my brain. How did she come up with that number? There must be something in her head that is telling her that my giving her more money means that she has to give me less money than what is printed on the machine.
I give up trying to comprehend. I say to her "You owe me four more dollars." She looks at me dumbly. I say, "$10.52 minus $3.52 is seven dollars. You gave me three dollars and two cents. The people behind me are getting restless. My friend sidles up next to me to watch the exchange. Everyone wants to know what's wrong with my order.
The manager comes over. Joy! Finally someone who can do math. "What's the problem?" he asks, and I relay the story. The ten dollars. The extra fifty-two cents.
He squints at the register receipt. "You gave her ten" he says.
"Yes," I say, and another fifty-two cents after that. I don't see what's so hard. Here. I'll give you the two pennies, and you give me four more dollars and I'll go away."
He squints at the receipt again, then asks to see the money. I sigh, then hand over the $3.02 and wait for the verdict. I swear I can see him counting on his hands, but hey, at least he can count. He puts the $3.02 back into the drawer and then re-counts seven dollars out of the singles slot.
I smile, and, I swear, it is so difficult, but I say "thank you" and walk out.