Today's leg of the journey from Illinois to Norfolk took us through West Virginia. Say what you will about West Virginia ("Your brother is your father, but your father don't know"), I hold the state dear because my mother, the Blessed Virginia Petrie Mullen, Pearl of Wisdom and Mother of Greatness, was born there.
However, West Virginia slipped a bit today. Upon entering the state around noon, we decided to make a quick stop in Barboursville. Our goal for this quick stop was merely to grab a quick bite in a fast food joint, so that when we reached our evening's destination a few hours later, we could enjoy a full meal.
To recap: a quick stop in a fast food joint for a quick meal.
At this point in the narrative, everything goes downhill. Quick and fast.
The kid at the cash register in McDonald's couldn't operate the cash register. If you've ever peeked behind the curtain at a McDonald's' cash register, you know that arithmetic is superfluous to the taking or orders. The only required skill is to be able to differentiate between, say, a picture of a Big Mac and a Chicken McNuggets. You press the pictures instead of keys with numbers on them.
But the kid couldn't manage it, so he called Cheryl. I don't know what Cheryl's job description requires, but apparently, it requires neither showing a new employee how to press pictures of meat nor pressing pictures of meat herself. At this point, Cheryl turned and hollered to a nearby supervisor, "We have a problem."
Indeed we do. The problem is that we've forgotten the meaning of "fast food." Fast food used to be fast. You walked into McDonald's and the burgers were already waiting for you, lined up in slanted chutes under a heat lamp. You asked for a burger and somebody handed you a burger. It was fast. That's why they called it fast food.
They didn't call it "good food," because it wasn't; they called it "fast food," because it was. That's why you went there. You didn't want to make a reservation at La Maison Etoille, put on a jacket and tie, and have someone named Jacques take your order and watch him kiss his fingertips in approval. You wanted a burger. Fast. So you went to a fast food joint.
Now, McDonald's has gone into the slow-motion business. Even when they can accurately press the proper pictures, you take a number and wait while somebody cooks you a burger somewhere, gives it to someone who mixes up the order and brings you somebody else's lunch.
Nothing's fast about fast food anymore. The only thing that remains the same is that the food tastes like fast food. The entire fast food experience is much like it was in its heyday, with the exception of the fact that it isn't fast.
But the Barboursville, WV McDonald's today had regressed at the speed of light, from fast food to slow food, and, finally, to no food.
This was supposed to be a quick stop for fast food. The food wasn't fast, the stop wasn't quick, so we left. Burger King was right next door.
We were second in line at Burger King. The woman working the register completed the transaction with the patron in front of us, and, just as I was about to say, "Two medium onion rings, a Coke and a Sprite," she disappeared. Five minutes later, she returned and said, "Excuse me, I'll be right with you."
And she was gone again. A few minutes later, I saw her working the driver-through window. Then she disappeared. A few minutes later, my wife said, "Look," so I looked. The woman was emptying the trash can in the parking lot.
Barboursville isn't in West Virginia. It's in the Twilight Zone. It's the town that time forgot. I was about to suggest to Jo that we leave, but where else could we go? In Barboursville, there isn't any food. There are only cash registers with pictures of food.
Finally, a man appeared behind the counter and asked if we'd been waited on. No, I said, and I was about to expound upon the experience of not being waited on, a way of life in Barboursville, but my wife has a sharp elbow that occasionally prevents me from expounding.
It took us 51 minutes to get fast food in Barboursville, West Virginia, but I was no longer upset. I was at peace, because I had found the solution.
I'm going to file a complaint. Not with McDonald's. Not with Burger King. I'm going to the top, to the real fixer, the righter of wrongs.
I know this will sound strange, but I've decided to complain to Donald Trump. This is right up his alley. Something is wrong with America. You can't get fast food in a fast food joint anymore. This is the sort of thing that Donald Trump loves to get involved in. JD Vance can handle the war while Donald Trump weighs in on the real problem
If there's one thing Donald Trump knows how to do, it's how to weigh in on something. He weighs in on things you'd think would be beneath the concerns of a president.
When Cracker Barrel decided to change its signs and modify its dining experience, Donald Trump weighed in. In fact, I seem to recall he took the credit for Cracke Barrel's backtracking. I don't know if it's true, but I recall tweets, or X's, or Truths lambasting the wokeness--whatever that it--of one of America's cultural institutions.
I can think of no cultural institution more central to the world's vision of America than fast food. America is fast food. Hurry, hustle, make a buck, grab a quick bite in a fast food joint.
Well, at least America used to be fast food. But, really, without fast food, what are we?
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