Third World Writer

You walk into the McDonald’s beside your building to buy your breakfast before heading into the office. The guy at the open counter is the same unLucky moron you see every day, with an expression on his face that says he hates his job, he hates his life, and he couldn’t give a rat’s ass about his customers on this good morning sir, what can I get you?

You order the same old, same old, Big Breakfast meal, Hot Chocolate.

There aren’t any styrofoam cups, so he opens a new stack of them and – kaplunk – half the stack falls onto the floor. Shoes bugs mops dirt have touched that floor. Another service crew girl sees it. They pause for two seconds, then he picks up the fallen stack and jams it into the cup dispenser. They shrug. He takes a cup from the clean stack and pours your Hot Chocolate. She takes a cup from the fallen stack and pours someone’s coffee. Shoes bugs mops dirt have touched that coffee.

He returns to you with your Big Breakfast and Hot Chocolate, looks over your shoulder and good morning sir, what can I get you?

You walk over to the store manager, tell her about the stack of styrofoam cups. She says she understands. You go to work. You work. You go home.

Today you walk into the McDonald’s beside your building to buy your breakfast. The guy at the open counter is the same unLucky moron you see every day.