my favourite part of mcnastys
In this country, we have germ-x, we have disinfecting hand soap, kitchen spray, detergents, room spray, toothpaste, and probably anything else one could think of. next we'll be spraying our mouths with "disinfecting spray that tastes just like bubble gum! new, rasberry razzle coming soon!"
and think about it, if you're on the tube (aka the subway) or you're out and about at the mall, and you touch someones hand, its so completley awkward. its awkward enough when you're walking next to your friend and your hands accidentally touch, let alone a complete stranger who's hands could have been in places you didn't even know existed.
but here, at mcdonalds, there is quite an exception. not only do we touch every person that comes to the windows hand, but we handle money. we handle their food. we pat them on the back when they see us in the lobby and say something. we offer to clean their tables. we neatly arrange their food in paper bags, on plastic trays. we ask, "did you get your drink, m'am?" as if we honestly and truly care.
my favourite part about mcnastys is that i can touch anyone and everyones hands and its not weird. i can sit in the back window, take their money, touch the nasty, futile, cocaine covered filth, and they gently glide my hand on theirs, returning their change and reciept.
I can open their drink, smell it and give it back to them. i can take their food out and give it to them. it's almost like, everyone that comes through mcdonalds is in our family for a brief time. whether it be for the few minutes theyre in the drive thru, or be it ten, fifteen, twenty minutes that they spend chowing down their hearttack inducing foods with pretty colourful wrappers and boxes, purposfully made this way to dazzle them and make them forget about the horrible things the greasy foods are doing to their insides.
sometimes i put on this face (actually, quite often). its like an up eyebrow, small frowning mouth and wrinkled lines in the face kind of look. the "i truly am sorry for this inconvenience" look, when in all actuality, i don't give a rats ass. They could be rolling on the floor, their cane two feet away and they could be screaming "HELP! HELP!" and I couldn't care less. But I would run up to them, grab their cane, and drag them to the nearest booth. I would proceed to wrinkle my forehead even more so then i would if some dickhead complained about something like "this is not enough catsup" and I would frown extra frowns, and work those muscles.
The only time I really care, and I mean honestly care, is when I am in danger of getting into trouble. Which, by the way, if you haven't noticed, is never. I mean, they hire ex ax murderers who're probably being chased for attempted murder and convicted rape of a 10 year old spanish boy. they hire some of the whitest, nastiest, and gold teethiest people in the world.
after all, you don't have to be pretty to make french fries.
that should be the motto. the mcdonalds motto! I can see it on the bottom of the Mcnastys giant yellow "M" in flashing lights, along with signs all over the country, "come one, come all! the circus is in town! clowns that make french fries and ask you if you'd like catsup with that! calling all convicted murderers, rapists, old men, 16 year old teenagers with nothing to do, and white/black trash!!" you'll be walking to the store and see it on a light pole. you'll be on a bus and see it, in school even, and see it. and suddenly, all of america will come together and say "thats me...they've finally listed all of us. i feel so accepted...lets go to the circus!"
Us
Stupid
Americans
when I was younger, i was going to be a model. i was going to rule the catwalks, strut my stuff in dolce and gabbana, mui mui. i was going to rock the pumps, go to the high end, VIP parties with Marc Jacobs (even though I had no idea he even existed until i was about 14). I was going to swirl my cocktail, smell it sweetly, and then sip it while booking a show. i would hang with the models, take silly pictures with them, and every single one would be beautiful, because I would be a model.
then my dreams were crushed when not only my father said that it would never happen (thanks, pop!), but when I realised that I was horribly ugly child. my teeth were yellow and crooked and no matter how hard I tried, i couldnt stop sucking my thumb. i wasn't cute, i wasn't anything except a little girl growing up with some tough issues to deal with.
when that phase passed (only to come back soon!) I was to be a writer. I wrote stories all the time, i wrote poems, i even wrote a book, called "The Garden" i thought it was the best thing i'd ever created. 11 and a half chapters, it took me my entire 8th grade year to complete. I had slaved away hours and endless hours to it. I became entralled and deeply in love with it. i told everyone, "Buy my poem books, buy my novels when they come out!" I remember small insignificant friends writing in my yearbook "I'll be the first to buy your book when it comes out!" as if that was a true sign of friendship. I wonder if authors really contact the first person to purchase their book, and become best friends with them?
anyway, turns out, as you get older, you get more stupid. you forget things, you have more problems, and suddenly, you try desperatley to hold on to that dedicated, smart, perfect attendance child who you once were. but no matter how hard i grasped, it fell through my fingers. my grades plummeted. my feelings were horribly mixed up. i was depressed, gothic, wiccan, crazy! i listened to good charlette because "they understood what it was like to be me" and told people that if they were a-holes to me, i would kill them. my writing skills dropped to almost nothing by the time i reached high school.
i couldn't write a single poem, but as for those, i actually had no desire to anyway. I tried to write stories, i tried to do anything. write in class! in my journal! i used to cherish having to write papers in class as a pre-teen! but as this horrible teenager i am, with millions of nasty hormones raging throughout my frame, i hated it. i resented it, because i couldn't write anymore.
i blamed it on writers block. searched everything on it. why it exists, why it happens, how long it lasts, when it goes away, and what i could do to get rid of it.
turns out, on rare occasions, perhaps now for example, can i write.
which is why i have decided to take full advantage of this oppurtunity, and write a book! okay, so this isnt a book. But perhaps, in the future, youll see my book on a shelf, buy it and hope you're the first one so we're best friends, flip to a page, and see this exact passage. the whole thing.
now aren't you glad you read all that?