New Years Eve 2011
January 2, 2012
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I haven’t been here for a while. In fact, the last time I was here they asked me to leave because I asked a customer sitting next door to me if they had seen the film “Super-Size Me”. “We’ll have none of that here,” the Manager exclaimed. I was shocked and then asked myself this question, “why do I always let my big mouth get me into trouble?, why can’t I just be quiet, enjoy the day and this wonderful book in front of me?” Good questions huh? The Manager proceeded to tell me, in no un-certain terms, that if I did not leave immediately — I was making the other customers extremely un-comfortable — she would call the police. Needless to say, I got the message. Nothing subliminal about that.
Well, that was then and now is now. It’s a year and a season later and many Managers have passed through here since then and, I am a wiser person. I no longer talk to anyone: I write about them. Of course I do not use their real names, in fact, I do not know their real names and don’t care to know. The older I get, the quieter I get, the quieter I get, the older I get. Yes, we need to communicate, at least, they say we need to. “They”, “hmm,” who knows who “they” are anymore; but it is common knowledge that a “they” do exist and that “they” say and advise those sorts of things. They also say that is is very O.K. to hang out and especially, eat at McDonald’s. I believe that what “they” say is true so, I hang out here in the winter months when my work is slow, watch others who hang out here, and always keep my eyes open for “they” who just may be on the premises.
Old men, kids, Dad’s with their — custody on the weekend — sons and daughters in tow while their x’s lay around the house with their lovers, and/or new spouses. Yes, we believe in monogamy with all our Ronald McDonald hearts: serial monogamy. None of those strange relationships for us; we couldn’t keep up with it anyway: one at a time for us, that’s enough; for a while. Who would not always want, and strive to be the favorite, wife or husband. Boy, what a mess that would make in amerika. The murder rate would sky-rocket. So, none of that “funny” stuff here. Please, one at a time.
Young flesh, old flesh. Old men in hats rarely seen these days except in old B&W photos on Family Restaurant walls. Got the flaps for the ears, up today, down tomorrow. Young girls with tattoos and cheap Chinese jewelry, torn shirts, skirts and jeans. Tear it where the tattoos are so we can see what brave young children you are. Thirty below zero but I can see the Tattoo. “Oh, they must see my Tattoo,” says the sixteen year old girl to her friend. “What good is it if they can’t see it?” she adds as her friend looks around embarrassed hoping “they” are not present watching and listening. Ronald’s ghost swirls in and out of this and every McDonald’s on the planet listening and watching as his empire grows ever larger; tattoos, torn shirts, immigrant help, cholesterol, cardiac arrest, obesity, and the happiest of meals.
Two old buddies are sitting in the booth next to mine. The one readies his oxygen canister on the two-wheeler for the trip home. It’s 11:00 a.m.. His friend says, “Yeah, I haven’t got nothing to do anymore (exact wording), it gets worse as I get older.” His friend, wrapped in tubes, eyes bulging, says, “Do you believe it Jack, my boy says I go to bed too early? I mean, what does the kid want me to do, watch the boob tube like he does every fu**ing waking minute of his life? It’s all crap.” The oxygen man rolls to the door while Jack keeps on talking, his words trailing into whimpers while his friend, no longer able to hear him, rolls his two-wheeler out the door. Jack then reaches down and retrieves his walker, makes a few adjustments and rises slowly from the booth. He says to the Oriental woman who had been cleaning the restrooms, “all done back there?” She nods in the affirmative and moves out of his way in the isle to let him pass.
Soon after Jack heads to the restroom a middle-aged couple comes in the back door. With them is a youngish attractive woman probably in her early twenties. The women sit down right across from me and the man heads to the counter to get their drinks. Soda for the women and coffee for the man. He returns and begins to chat with the younger woman. The older woman, apparently his wife is quiet through-out their conversation which focuses on some sort of law enforcement. The man talks as though he is addressing a crowd so the conversation is by no means a private one. The young woman and the man begin to tell each other about their athletic exploits, marathons, rock climbing and cycling while the other woman remains exquisitely quiet. I pick up my book “The Sorrows of Young Werther” and read a few more of his diary entries. He is as boring as the man and girl across the aisle. After an apple pie I decide to take a break outside and have a smoke.
It’s very windy today, the power is out at my apartment which is how I ended up here this morning. The flags in front of the building are horizontal and ragged, especially the Colorado State Flag. It’s hard to light up so I climb into the car and sit with my coffee. There are masses of dark clouds rapidly moving across a bright blue sky, it’s chilly, then warm, chilly again. The drive through at this Mac is a two-laner, always packed out. Cadillacs, old Japanese cars and trucks, four-wheelers. Young girls, old girls, fat girls , thin girls, all in for the “fix”. Soda, soda, soda! I finish my cigarette (my fix) and head back in for a re-fill and another short shift of reading, writing, and another apple pie.
A group of Saturday worshippers arrives through the back entry. Two very skinny guys in very cheap suits and three fat girls with long curly hair, tons of make-up and cheap jewelry. Probably Jehovah’s Witnesses I think. Can’t be Seventh Day Adventists because most of them are healthy vegetarians who have enough money for better clothes. Hey, I don’t have expensive clothes either but I don’t pretend to and dress up like a circus act. It’s nothing personal, I mean, come on, lets be real, we are adults aren’t we? You can get some pretty nice duds at Goodwill. I know, I have some. So, they all crowd around a table and consume about twenty pounds of bovine flesh; more than I eat in a week or more, sucking fingers, blowing noses, dropping enough French Fries on the floor to feed ten of the Big Black Crows flying around outside the door for a few days. I guess they are fattening themselves up for some kind of strange sacrifice, burn the fat, let the sweet smoke rise to the pig god or something. Maybe make a few candles for the Oinker Altar. Boy, am I being ugly today. Hey, I’ll get over it.
I’m going to head home and see if the power is back on yet. There are sirens all over town, the wind is still cranking and I’m tired of people, once more, for the day.
