McMisery

January 21, 1999

By Morgan Carlson

Thanks to the utter lack of people here at Hofstra (the semester doesn't start for another week), the cafeteria is only open at certain times of the day. Therefore, I'm on my own for food sometimes..... which led to the most foolish decision I have made here yet at Hofstra:

I ate at McDonalds.

Not that this is a rare occurence here in America. Millions upon millions eat there every day, or at least, at some place LIKE McDonalds. However, I can't worry about them now....

Anyhow, as soon as I strolled in the door, I knew I was in for it. Every patron at McDonalds is either an asshole college kid (you know, those groups of guys who band together and make insults 24 hours a day to cover up their insecurities and fear of women).... heck, they're funny enough for their own letter..... anyway..... everyone at McDonalds is either an asshole college kid, a really depressed old person, or someone whose grip on English extends to the phrase "Super Size it."

I feel bad for the college kids, 'cause their lifestyle will condemn them to a life of bachelorhood and spending their weekends at the bar with their cronies, hunched around a table and clinging to one another like security blankets. I feel bad for the old people, because they feel they can't make friends, and our society is so hell-bent on solo dining (don't talk to anyone or sit with another person - get your own table and eat quietly!) that they can't do what they really want to: just sit down and have a nice chat with a friendly face. I feel AWFUL about the foreign folks, 'cause they fled a crappy country for the American dream, and all they got was dollar-hamburgers and crap from Limbaugh and Co., who find it easy to tell people to stay in Mexico from their penthouses at the ocean.
But let's talk about MY problems, damn it. I ordered the grilled chicken meal thingie.... the grill marks (presumably) are evidence that it was, at one point, placed on a flame. I think the black stripes are painted on, though, since the grilled chicken doesn't taste.... well.... grilled, for one. It tastes 'nuked.' I guess atomic chicken wouldn't sell as well. Not that it tastes like chicken, mind you.... it tastes like salt. It's rather ironic that hyena meat down in Australia 'tastes like chicken', but supposed chicken in an American restaurant does not. What a country.

The lettuce and tomato - and he're I'm flying fast and free with the word 'vegetable' - taste like meat. Everything does at McDonalds. Even the mayonnaise tastes like meat, probably 'cause it's been in a warehouse for weeks at room temperature. The lettuce does not crunch when you eat it; it doesn't even taste cold or wet, as properly served raw lettuce should taste. It tastes as if all of the meat products - I'm also flying fast and free with the word 'meat' - had snuck into the fridge late at night and rolled around in the vegetables.
The bun - which has characteristics of air, sugar, and paper-mache - looks like it has seeds which were painted on by surly midgets. The bun is big, mind you, but only to make the entire sandwich look big. Inside, there's a few grimy strands of lettuce and piece of chicken about the size of a human ear. The bun has a dirty job - it not only has to hold the sandwich together despite its flimsy material, but it also has to obscure the hideous food within, distracting the costumer with its bizarre coat of magic seeds. (That strategy is called the Sesame Shield.)
Everything has two flavors - 'salt' and 'sugar.' The sandwich and fries are 'salt', the bun and soda are 'sugar.' This is the Little Kid Principle, in which you make stuff that little kids like, so they whine and bring their parents, too. Plus, stupid people, such as high school students, also eat like Little Kids. In fact, EVERYONE eats like Little Kids, until we reach fifty and start jogging to attempt to delay the Grim Reaper.

The sad thing is, McDonalds two positives - speed and cheapness - are a crock. Each meal costs about six bucks, for thirty cents of crappy meat and pennies of soda. You're pretty much paying for their advertising and litter in the end. You're certainly not paying for the ambience, which is about as sterile as a nuclear plant technician and furnished with plants from the Plastic Jungles of Taiwan. As for the 'fast' in fast food, well, I'm not fooled. Because it's supposed to be fast, the store only hires a few employees at once to run the restaurant. Naturally, it's always busy, and crowded, and then no two employees speak the same language, so it's chaos behind the counter. Asking for a special favor, such as 'no mayonnaise', is an act of purest bravery.

"Can you HOLD THE FUCKING MAYO, LAQUITA????"
"Yes. You payo now. Cash cash."
Oh well. At least we'll all die soon.

- Morgan -