Patronage under the influence is a continuous problem. Inebriated customers give us Hell and inject some humor into the humdrum. After last call, a shared bong and you name it, they all end up seeking grease in their veins. In six years of working nights, I've dealt with my share of intoxication enabled psychosis. I even found the time for a little of my own.

Drunks are a dirt common sight in drive-thru, of all places. Most of them are agreeable and get their orders without incident. Others like to scream at or with passengers and otherwise make a nuisance of themselves. If they find that verbal outlet less than fulfilling, they harass the cashier. Some are prone to making unwelcome advances on female employees. Some have been drunk to the point of scraping their cars against the building. A customer at Jack in the Box had a young woman in the car who was screaming to the music playing. I had to shout "Shut it up or go home" before their order could be taken. Marijuana use is so commonplace that I have seen many customers put down a joint to open their wallets.

I was once a food runner for a pathetic sports bar. While returning to the kitchen after running an order, I was accosted. "Hey, sailor! Hey, sailor," a man shouted at me while his sweaty drunk ass gave me a homo-erotic hug.

While working drive-thru at Jack in the Box, I had a certain grungy customer who was stoned out of his mind. Rather than stopping at the window, he circled the building. On his third pass, I suspected he would pull a gun and hold me up. He ordered six tacos in lieu of the register's contents. Reeking of Mary Jane eau de toilette, a drunk at McDonald's thought it prudent to scream a barrage of obscenities at the swing manager. A dope lush moron at Jack in the Box tried to use the drive-thru without a vehicle. He left after the night manager cussed him out and I went to call police. Dallas' finest were regulars at that store.

Crackheads have caused some aggravation. A few months ago, I had a crackhead try to get a refund before customer service opened. "Well, it can't wait until eight o' clock," she said when I informed her of lobby's opening time. She had no reciept and the coffee maker she presented was not sold in the store. Her dopehead face blurted out "I want my money back!" How original.

The intoxicated can also be amusing and profitable. Drunks were a blessing to me as a third shift waiter. Being agreeable and laughing along with their remarks could mean a 40 percent tip. Flirting with drunk women was quite effective on occasion. Or, drunks could leave me 12 percent and a pornographic mess. At McDonald's, I once sat down with a loud table of happy drunks for some entertainment. Their insights on the quality of a cashier's ass were profound. Drunks sometimes help to break up the day.

Drugs aren't just for customers. I once brought a liter of Jim Beam to work at Steak 'n Shake. The grill cook spotted the bottle and I offered him some. We took a few shots in the break room. The ex-Green Beret cook smoked pot at work, and insisted on repaying me with some hits off of his pipe. Sharing a bowl or two became a nightly ritual, and he always had good stuff. We smoked by the front door for an optimal vantage point. An ex-cop manager knew of our illicit breaks, but looked the other way for third shift's best.

At Jack in the Box, we drank. A manager was an inveterate drinker. He would mix out some Wild Turkey from his car with fountain drinks in the store's cups. On occasion, we all went off camera into the break room and pounded back longnecks all night. This manager would get fully locked and loaded while working. I am told that he passed out behind front counter. I had only seen this happen to him outside: he gave me a ride home shortly thereafter.

One night in February 2001, a woman with damage to her fender rolled up to my window. Stoned completely out of her mind, she asked "What do ya'll have?" Being that she passed a McDonald's sign and a lit menu, this question was unfathomable. "Burgers," I responded acerbically. "Can someone else take my order," she asked. "Yes ma'am, at the second window," I responded. I was already tired of stoned customers that night. Although she remained at my window, when I consider myself done with an unhappy customer, I disregard them fully to avoid appearing subservient.

Several to 10 minutes had passed when a cashier came to my booth to investigate the hold up. "Oh, my God! She passed out," the cashier exclaimed. The woman was slumped over her steering wheel. I had the manager call 911 and I wrote down her license plate number as instructed. We shifted the car into neutral and pushed it to the second window. Drive-thru got slammed with a rush. I had to leave the booth after taking orders to grab each order and run them to cars waiting in the lot, being that the second window was blocked.

Paramedics discovered that the stoner was actually a diabetic who had passed out due to insulin shock. She came for a quick meal to prevent that occurrence.

Intoxication is the spice of life. On a cashier's income, it may be just about the finest thing. Nevertheless, people should indulge politely. Too much bullshit is attributable to public intoxication. Beautify the community; put the glass dick down and learn how to hold your liquor.