Service with a Sneer

That's what you get in New York. I know New Yorkers get a bad rap for our less than friendly demeanor but I'm gonna go out on a limb and say, we deserve it. And I get it. I understand why this 13 mile island teeming with millions doesn’t have time to say “Please” and “Thank you” and “Y’all come back now” like I used to hear in Texas. But here’s what I don’t get. Why is the fastest city in the world have the slowest fucking McDonald’s?

I used to avoid the fast food eatery like the plague when I moved to Manhattan and, quite frankly, it was easy given how many other, equally cheap and more enticing options were available. But then I moved to the Upper West Side and there’s one right across the street from the 72nd Street subway station. So at the end of a long day, as I trudge up the subterranean steps into the bustling streets of my neighborhood, I’m faced with the looming task of going through a stack of Chinese, Italian, and sushi menus or simply giving in to the lure of the golden arches. Tonight was one of those nights.

After my pupils adjusted to the blinding, fluorescent lights- Mother of GOD, do we need to see every pore as we stuff our fat faces?- I noticed the guy in front of me in line. He was wearing a tailored, wool overcoat and Salvatore Ferragamo shoes. He was mixed, black and something else- maybe Latin?, and yeah, I say black not “African-American” because not all blacks are from Africa nor are they all necesarily American and that PC label is the last thing they want your cracker ass to worry about. So, anyway, hot guy in line in front of me waiting for his food and I was just picturing him turning and asking me out, when he opened his mouth. “I don’t need a bag,” he sang. Sang. He couldn’t have sounded more gay if he had said, “I like men.”

“What do you want?” the manager asked. That’s right, this was how the world’s fastest McDonald’s manager was choosing to address a customer. This place was stellar from top down.
“I’ll have an Asian chicken salad, fried chicken,” WHAT? I’m already ordering a salad, Rome wasn’t built in a day.
“We’re out of salads,” he replied clearly torn up about not having my selection in stock. How the hell do you run out of salads? ALL of your salads? I ordered a fish filet and only had to wait ten minutes for it to be microwaved and drowned in tartar sauce.

Tomorrow at this time, I will be preparing to board a flight to gay Paree! No fair that world’s most romantic city is named after world’s skankiest ho.