san francisco sin #7, 238- the fumble of going to mcdonald's

The fumbling over the words the words-yes I have gone to Mc Donald’s. Mc Donald’s. The urban San Franciscan guilt, the guilt of the liberal, the pickle of I have read Fast Food Nation. It is in our smirks, in the expression in our hands, in our whispers at the bar. But now we can yell it. Because we all admit we indeed fumbled into Mc Donald’s for breakfast sausage biscuit or maybe chicken nuggets or a cheeseburger. Fumbling in the words because we aren’t supposed to go there- anti-corporation, anti-whole foods movement, anti-small farmers, anti -chemical, anti-local business, anti-San Francisco. We have said it aloud like the sin of Wal-mart or owning a oversized hummer or buying non-organic or leaving lights on or not tipping your barista.

We have broke one of the cardinal sins of going, going to Mc Donald’s. Then the rationalization happens, I say I only go once every two years. Or the guy, the guy we just meet Q says it’s about convenience we had this job, job right next to the Mc Donald’s but I would hide the evidence until my boss found a receipt and reprimanded he was. They build music studios. Studios. He fumbled and went to Mc Donald’s. He fumbled and left the receipt. His boss wrote him up for his own freedom of choice-not free in a place where your decisions must always always reflect the norms of the pc society.

I once read in the paper would you judge me if I had a vanilla milkshake from Mc Donald’s. I thought I wouldn’t unless you went there every day. Every day. We are sitting at the bar and are now bonding over the fact we will admit out loud we have gone to Mc Donald’s. Mc Donald’s armed with the information it is bad and wrong and now we might be bad and wrong. Remember when our choices were easy, easier. And the liberal educated guilt didn’t silence our real wants and desires because once in a while a cheeseburger from Mc Donald’s won’t kill me. I fumbled and admitted it but in the bonding over being radical in a place that used to be. We decided we should go to Mc Donald’s. Not then but another time. Another time.

I understand the marketing, the marketing for the happy meals and the kids I watch beg me to take me there for the toys. But I would rather take them to in and out or barney’s or somewhere more real. But is my liberal conscious depriving them from their God given right to a happy meal. My friend N would lose her job as a nanny if she took the kids she watched to McDonalds. Get fired. Donzo. Extreme you would think. But now McDonalds is wrong but overpriced couches and personal assistants and needed a nanny when you don’t work is just fine. Just fine.

I am fumbling, fumbling, fumbling over my choices because they usually support the local, the real, the organic, but sometimes by falling falling into the gray of the black and white of choices is where we learn. Learn. Learn. I learned from the two guys at the bar that they sneak McDonalds sometimes too. A fumble maybe. But there is a cheer, a cheer of acknowledgement between strangers at a bar.

Our local bar. With local beer. With local folks. Like you and me. Local. Fumble. Might be whole foods down the street.