Mcdonalds Essay

Mcdonalds Essay-65
I was terrified of the world around me, and confused enough to call that feeling of terror “courage.” This miserable condition was plainly evident in my appearance.Covered with streetfight scars and homemade tattoos indicative of my angst, steel-toed boots and a shaved head completed the look that said, “I hate you” in no uncertain terms.Dear nice old black lady at Mc Donald’s, I think of you fondly and often, and I talk about you all the time.

I was terrified of the world around me, and confused enough to call that feeling of terror “courage.” This miserable condition was plainly evident in my appearance.Covered with streetfight scars and homemade tattoos indicative of my angst, steel-toed boots and a shaved head completed the look that said, “I hate you” in no uncertain terms.Dear nice old black lady at Mc Donald’s, I think of you fondly and often, and I talk about you all the time.

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It would have been nice if that experience of humanity changed me on the spot, but it didn’t.

I went back to my dingy house and got drunk out my mind, blasting white power music with my white power buddies, and slurring some nonsense about Jews taking my money from my paycheck and giving it to lazy black people.

Strategically placed so that when someone responded to my aggression with some of their own I could show it to them before closing that hand into a fist and hitting them.

Willfully ignorant of the wrongness steeped into the swastika during the Holocaust, all I thought of was the cheap thrill of offending people.

But when I walked into Mc Donald’s for that third payday Big Mac, you took no offense.

Instead you smiled, and asked how was my day, and if I was going to have a Big Mac again, and you remembered that I drank Diet Coke.

Once again, I looked down at my boots, mumbled a strained response, and scurried off with my Big Mac as fast as I could.

That weekend I had a swastika tattooed on the middle finger of my right hand.

There I was very diligently trying to hate black people, and there you were making doing so seem as stupid as it is simply by smiling at me.

Having drowned the trauma of your smile in cheap beer and hate-rock over the course of a week, I was taken aback by your warm greeting upon my return, this time amplified with your recognition of me.

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