Saturday, August 6, 2016

Inching Forward

Because I live with little girls, I am forced to endure the horrific culinary cuisine of McDonalds.

I can honestly say there's not a damn thing they serve that I like.

Years ago, I liked Big Mac's when they were ... two all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions on a sesame seed bun.

Who knows what the Hell it's made out now!

I think it's the same material used to make the cardboard box it's served in!

AND ... if your life is cursed and the closest McDonald's is on Whitemarsh Island where the special sauce on a Big Mac is on the side of the cold bun that took twelve-and-a-half minutes to get ... and that's if you didn't go through the drive through ... which starts in Thunderbolt ... and when you finally get to the window for your food ... a punk ass kid on his cell phone looks pass you and says ... "Pull over ... we'll bring it to you."

Finally ... PISSED ... I stroll inside to find over half the employees sitting in booths staring at their phones ... arguing over who's going to mop up the mess from the Frappe machine ... AND ... doing their homework ... or studying English.

Anyway ...

Here I am waiting in the Drive through at the Whitemarsh Island McDonalds because I ... LOVE ... MY ... LITTLE ... GIRLS!

I will get them back later in life.

It's a pleasant morning so the sun roof's open and the windows are down ... Radiohead is blaring from the Boise Sound System ... Maddie, the clueless 14 year old who knows everything, is happy I caved to her demand for McDonalds ... and that brings me joy.

"Hey Micheal," he says, tentatively waiving, carrying his sack of whatever it is to his car.

Older, grayer, sadder ... he's a relic of my past.

Then, we were pinnacles of power ... he at the Hospital ... me as a Change Agent ... and for a while our world's collided ... and we  did lots of good things for lots of people in desperate need of anything good.

"Hey," I smile.

Climbing in his  car, Maddie asks who he is.

I tell her as we inch forward for her Frappe and pancakes.

His car pulls beside mine and he rolls down a window.

"What did you think of the Convention?"

"There was a Convention?" I reply. "I don't do those things anymore. They took everything I gave them and never gave anything back."

Shocked, he grimaces, rolls his window up and slowly makes his way into the past where he lives.

"What was that about?" Maddie asks.

Sighing, I answer, "It's sad. He's forever imprisoned by a past he'll never have again. I think he'd like to move on but ... well, the past is powerful and, in his case, I think it's won."

"Your order is almost ready," an unseen voice says from a speaker.

"Son of a Bitch!" I mutter.

Maddie laughs as we inch forward.