“Uh….let me get one of them big chocolate-mel coffees,” the
man at the drive thru intercom yelled into the microphone loud enough for me,
sitting in my truck behind with my driver-side window down, to judge him. But, of
course, it was I that need to be judged. Yes, I, because of my busy life
schedule working, on-line gaming, and stuff, when I’m feeling impatient to wait
for food, I go to McDouches. “I said I want one of them big carmel-choco
coffees…like on the picture there.” Sitting here listening to this man was so
painful that I couldn’t help but bang my head on the steering wheel. “Sir, do
you mean a large coffee with caramel and chocolate in it or a large caramel
mocha?” Whoever that person was working deserved employee of the month, because
this was brutal. “Yeah…yeah. A big caramel macho.” The employee on the intercom
snickered, “Okay sir. Will that complete your order?” I imagine that the road
to purgatory was much like waiting for a slow order in a fast food drive thru.
The man final drove to the window. It was my turn, finally. “Welcome to
McDonald’s!” I was pretty sure I was going to get a #3 (a Quarter-pounder
w/cheese)…but, “Would you like to try our new McHealthy?” is what the employee
asked me. I unwillingly asked, “What is that?” She said, “It’s a lean Icelandic burger substitute on
a Mongolian wheat bun.” That sounded like a code for intestinal problems. “Ah…I’ll
pass. I’ll just…” but she interrupted, “Would you like to try our new McDiet?” I
rolled my eyes and asked, “A McDiet?” She nodded (I think) over the intercom and said, “Yes.” I gave up, “Go on.” She eagerly continued, “Well, with our
McDiet, you get a choice of one of our signature salads made fresh from our
special Atlantic seaweed blend and an apple pie dessert pill…” I was over it, “No
thanks. I need at #3, no onions, and a bottled-water. Can you peel the
McDonald’s label off of it, please?” I was probably going to refill it all day
because buying bottled-waters all day is expensive and no one needed to know I
had been here. “Um….okay. Will that complete your order? Would you like…,” the
employee was doing the job too well, so this needed to end. “Yes! Yes! That
will complete my order!” I pushed the gas pedal down and braked immediately.
The guy from earlier was still trying to pay. I could here the employee
instigating this opportunity, “I’m sorry sir, but your debit card says declined
again. Would you like to apply for a McCreditCard?” Someone
help me. I’m in purgatory. Going to McDonalds is like going to a place where clowns shouldn’t be,
considering the quality of product offered here, let’s say a funeral.
It’s forgettable- the number of times I was called a “fucking faggot” as a kid. As a former child of god, I wasn’t expected to know what those words meant. I was taught that repentance was vital to achieving everlasting life. My momma made me go to church every Sunday. I said my prayers as I was told. But I eventually learned that Catholicism was never my sanctuary. Christianity was never my safe-haven. God never stopped the cheap shots. He never once prevented the harassment or pure embarrassment that I felt from the words of my “kin in Christ.” Now, picture me- a helpless faggot, blinded by the incandescent lights of an old catholic church. I was home from college spending Spring Break in my former hellscape. So, naturally, my momma yet again made me go to church. This time, on a Wednesday. It was Ash Wednesday. When I was among the folks from home, I felt out of place. So much that I’d imagine camouflaging myself. Like saber-tooth in hiding. But the difference? I had a far mo...
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