It is Friday morning, I’m hungry and I don’t feel like the usual. So, what do I do? I go off to McDonald’s for breakfast. Of course, I feel guilty for doing it, but, quilt or no quilt, I want McDonald’s.
I arrive at the restaurant (Is it really?), and as I enter, I notice all older guys, about my age, and without their wives. So, I forgive myself for going.
Up to the counter I go, scanning the menu on the wall I order a #12. That’s the bagel with egg, cheese, steak and onions. I can hear half of you people out there feigning disapproval, while the other half are saying: “Why didn’t I do that, it sounds so good!”
There is a young lady behind the service counter. She looks like she is a day late for work. Tired eyes, hair just combed and slouching somewhat, she suddenly comes alive. A smile crosses her pretty face and she begins to question me.
“Can I help you?”
“Uh, yes, I’d like a… #...12!
“What would you like to drink with that?”
“Err… coffee!”
“Would you like milk on the side?”
“Ummm… sure!”
“What size coffee?”
“Oh, uh, give me a… small!”
“Is that to go or stay?”
“Stay, and after all these questions, maybe it would be more timely to order lunch instead.” (I really didn’t say everything after “Stay”, but you get the point. I figure all those old guys were probably teenagers when they got here.
Why do you need an inquisition first thing in the morning? Will they give me an option soon to order in ‘One’ for English or ‘Dos’ para Espanol?
Please remember those we pray for like Joan and DD.
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