You Should Know Better

I have a brother who is 3½ years older than me.  Not 4 and not 3.  3½.

As in Mom yelling, "David, you are 3½ years older than your sister.  You should know better."

My brother and I always seemed to be at odds about the little things back then.  I thought he was the coolest, and he thought I was a pest (which if we're being honest, may have been slightly true).

My mother drove an old Ford Escort when we were young (I was around 4, David 7½).  We called it the Dodo Bus for reasons I can't remember but probably had something to do with the movie Follow That Bird.  Because David and I loved to bicker over the little things on even days he got to sit in the coveted front seat and on odd days, shotgun was all mine.  Mind you, this is before little kids were always to sit in the backseat.

So it was an even-numbered day when we took the trip through the McDonald's drive-through.  David  basking in the front and I was stuck in the backseat of the Dodo Bus.  Though we loved to squabble, every once in a while the planets would align and we would team up against my mom.  2 against 1.

In the short time it took from Mom ordering the happy meals to paying at the first window, a plan was hatched.  David had the idea that I should tell the worker at the window that they were fired.  So because David was giggling and absolutely giddy about his plan, when we got to the window I yelled to the young man, "You're fired!"

The apathetic teenager at the window just sort of shook his head and maybe there was a slight eye roll.  Mom was trying not to be embarrassed and also trying not to give any laugh of encouragement but it was too late.  David was in stitches.  That was all the encouragement I needed, I now had a crowd.

"Your fired!  Your fired!  Your fired!  Your fired!  Your fired!  Your fired!  Your fired!  Your fired!  Your fired!  Your fired!  Your fired!"

I shouted as loud as I could over and over and over.  We were off to window number 2 to pick up the order with my mom trying to shush me.  The teen at window 2 was good-humored and started to chuckle at a 4 year old telling him he was fired.  More fuel.

"Your fired!  Your fired!  Your fired!  Your fired!  Your fired!  Your fired!  Your fired!  Your fired!  Your fired!  Your fired!  Your fired!"

Mom was mortified as she grabbed the happy meals with a defeated smile, David giggled, and I shouted "You're fired, you're fired!" all the way home.





Afterword:  I learned the F-word on Easter a year previous to this incident under similar encouragement from the one who should know better.