McDonalds - "I'm Lovin' It"

I probably stop at McDonalds less than once a year, but my 2007 visit was the most entertaining ever. I witnessed one of the best bruhahas in fast food history today at a local Myrtle Beach McDonalds. It was lunchtime and there were probably 25 cars in the drive-thru. I was several cars back, with a bird's eye view, when the chain of events began. The driver of a car paid for his/her order and then pulled out of the line prior to advancing to the pick-up window. It could have been an emergency exit or just a shenanigan. If it was a prank, it was the best $5.00 investment ever.

Every subsequent car got the order intended for the car in front of him/her. Since it was so busy, no one checked their order at the window, except me. I might not have noticed except what should have been handed me in a small bag was delivered to me in increments. I tried, to no avail, to stop the employee, who wore a "trainee" badge, from handing out the order. I think there are only two positions at McDonalds, trainee and manager. I informed the drive-thru trainee that my order was indeed wrong. She, of course, argued against the probability of an error in my order. Perhaps her 100% accuracy status was in jeopary. I am convinced the extent of her "training" program was "take the next bag you see and hand it out the window to the next vehicle that drives up". No one prepared her for the possibility of getting out of sequence. This eventuality is probably not covered in the Hamburger University syllabi.


By then, several angry and confused patrons had pulled around and gone into the store with their random and sometimes disappointing orders. They could not drive back through, as it would have taken twenty minutes to make it back to the window in the traffic.

I had ordered a grilled chicken sandwich combo and received a huge order including Big Macs, Happy Meals, fries, several drinks and a hot apple pies. Since I obviously had their order, I am positive the huge family in front of me was not HAPPY with their MEAL whatsoever. In all probability it was sadly lacking. And I know that the construction crew of illegals in the club cab behind me was not going to be satisfied with my grilled chicken sandwich combo. They would NOT be "lovin' it".

The pressure of the situation resulted in a screaming fit and near catfight between the aforementioned trainee, the on-duty manager, and several other customers and employees. I am certain at least a dozen orders were screwed up, to say nothing of the delay as they reconfigured the bogus orders. I am sure they received some phone complaints from those that didn't discover their sweet tea was actually a diet coke until they had driven off. Had I just continued driving with my cornucopia of Mcfood, there is no telling how long this "guess what's in the bag" game would have continued.

It would be well worth the price of purchase to perform that maneuver and pull over to watch the fun.

Why I Don't Have Any Tattoos

Commitment issues, it's as simple as that. I can't come up with any particular image, word or symbol that I want permanently on my body. I know myself, I'd change my mind sooner or later and getting tattoos removed is painful and not all that effective.

The closest I ever came was when I was in college in Olympia, Washington. I used to hang out on Pacific Avenue in Tacoma and I had befriended a tattoo artist named Painless Brenda. One night I was drunk. I walked in to Brenda's shop, sat down and told her that I wanted a mushroom cloud on my right bicep, with the words, "Fuck 'em if they can't take a joke" written below it. In my inebriated state it struck me as an existential badass tattoo.

Brenda looked at me, shook her head no, then threw me out of her parlor. She told me that she didn't permit "cursing in her presence" and to come back when I was sober.

I did go back when I was sober. I brought her a bottle of the wine she liked and thanked her for having tossed me out.

I like tattoos. A good tattoo can be beautiful, and sexy. There are plenty of others that are just plain interesting, fascinating even. There are plenty of bad ones though. Sooner or later some of the chain tattoo removal parlors are going to start making lots of money. There wasn't, however, any traffic at their booths yesterday at the Tattoo and Body Modification Expo at the L.A. County Fairgrounds.

Every chance I get, I go to tattoo expos. What's great about them is that everyone who's there, shows up to see and be seen. They take the word "expo" seriously. It's a photographer's paradise. A whole crowd of people who love it when you take their picture; who are comfortable with their bodies; who are, often literally, colorful.

Here's a few photos from Friday and Saturday at the Tattoo Expo. (If you want to see a lot more, I've put them on a Flickr page. (I suggest using the slide show function.)

But, for those of you who don't want to go to the Flickr Page here's a preview:

Wicked - Sunday Scribblings 7/22/07

I don’t know that I have ever used the word “wicked” in a sentence unless I was describing a character from the Wizard of Oz to someone who had never seen it. But that has probably never happened since I rarely converse with anyone from outside our galaxy.




The first thing that came to mind when I read the prompt was a film I saw in the early 80’s based on a great Ray Bradbury novel, “Something Wicked This Way Comes.” It was not nearly as good as the book, but movies seldom are. It was interesting enough to hold my attention and be wary of carnival people, which I still am.


If I were from Boston, I would have used the word thousands of times as in “that chowda was wicked good” or “that sunset was wicked pissah”. But sadly. I live in the Deep South and have had no reason to use the term “wicked.”

If I were a sportscaster I would have used it as in “strike three on a wicked splitter.” If I were a Boston sportscaster I could say, “that was a wicked good slider from Schilling, wicked pissah that it was hit for a home run.” (see, I hate the Red Sox. They are truly wicked.)



I googled the word “wicked” and the first hundred or so entries referred to a Broadway Musical about the “untold story of the Witches of Oz.” I could sit in the Orchestra for $110.00 a ticket. That is “wicked expensive” considering I have no interest in learning more about those witches and sitting that close there is always a chance of a house falling on me or getting strafed by a stray shingle. But I could sit in the Rear Mezzanine for $50.00 a seat. That sounds like a “wicked” good deal and appears much safer.