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Fuck McDonald’s
A rant about a so-called “restaurant.”
So, about a year ago I was driving across country somewhere in the Midwest and I had to pull in to a travel plaza for some gas. It was one of those stops on the highway that has a fast food restaurant attached. This one, as I’m sure you’ve guessed, had a Mcdonald’s.
As a rule, I avoid fast food places unless it’s late and I’m traveling, and there are no viable alternatives. I was in the middle of a long trip. Usually I pack enough food for a day or two so I don’t have to eat out. Tuna sandwiches. PB&J. Mixed vegetables. Actual sustenance. But it was my third day of driving, and I’d already burned through all my rations. It was getting dark, I had a few more hours of driving to go, and by the time I stopped again it was possible nothing would be open.
That left one hell of a Sophie’s choice. So into McDonald’s I went after parking my car.
You know that shot from The Exorcist when the priest arrives to the house and it looks all foggy and ominous? That’s what I felt like standing outside the door to Ronald McDonald’s Chamber of Misfortune.
