I'm sitting in one of my least favorite places in the known universe, Mcdonalds, watching a chubby girl eat three hash brown patties for breakfast. She's dressed for school and her Mother, also feasting on hash browns, is wearing pink pajamas with white bunnies on them and a black North Face jacket. They douse their hash browns in ketchup. I had no idea it takes seven packets of Mcdonalds ketchup per hash brown patty to achieve the appropriate culinary ratio for dining.
At the same time, I'm having a discussion via LinkedIn with a woman in Copenhagen. She wants to discuss buying content from me and hopes that I want graphic design from her. The world is indeed a small place.
"Senior coffee," one of the servers yells when a guy walks in.
I've never heard of senior coffee. Is it the old stuff left in the pot for several hours?
Lots of single parents are bringing their kids in for breakfast before taking them to school. After ordering chocolate milk and chicken biscuits, the adult whips out his phone and starts to read. The kid is busy opening little packets of ketchup getting all over his school uniform along with the chicken. The father doesn't notice.
Older kids are studying as they eat. They are quiet, well behaved and seemingly desperate. Several cuss as they stand before lapsing into prayer.
I'm here because I've dropped my car off for service and have no other option. There's this Mcdonalds and nothing else as I wait on Sarah to pick me up.
A single father looks up from his phone and discovers his six year old son is covered in ketchup and is licking it off his fingers. He hasn't touched his chicken biscuit.
"Are you kidding me?" the Dad says.
The kids turns his head to look at his father as he prepares to take a drink of the chocolate milk and pours it on top of the white, ketchup covered school shirt.
The Dad cusses loudly and the kids closes his eyes.
The line for Drive-In service wraps around the building, filled with folks who prefer to dine in their vehicle rather than endure a happy meal inside.
My phone buzzes and Sarah sent a text informing me that she's outside.
I can't get out of there fast enough.
The father sticks the ketchup, chocolate milk wearing son into a green Jaguar and peels out of the parking lot towards the school.
Sarah drives me home and I try to explain everything that has happened.
There's no making it up.
It happened just like that.
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