Mmmm, wouldn't some french fries be nice with that!
Nate and Sarah busted me in the McDonald’s drive through. As I scrambled to explain that I was after a smoothie (which was somehow in my mind less bad, though I fully admit I’m not above a French fry), I was reminded of this incident a year or so ago:
I have a thing for french fries. I consider myself a connoisseur. And no, McDonalds fries are not really up to snuff, but they’ll do in a pinch. And this was a pinch, let me tell you. We were all sitting around at the library discussing Barbara Kingsolver’s Animal, Vegetable, Miracle and local food (and why everyone should love Tumbling Shoals Farm) and there was all this guilt. It seemed that reading that book elicited a lot of guilt from folks around here. There was a funny story about being in the grocery store suffering a mild panic attack thinking, “there’s nothing in here I can buy!”
But all this discussion about eating close to the source did not elicit guilt in me, my friends, oh no! It ignited an incalculable desire for french fries. I had already consumed my daily dose of local healthy veggies, yes sir, I was headed for McDonalds. This was a pinch, after all. I should have gone through the drive through. Despite all my scoffing at the mere principle of a drive through, I should have driven through. I even considered it, but my bladder and the usual excessive cleanliness of any McDonalds restroom dictated otherwise. But then came the guilt. I guess you could call it that. But really it was more a fear of embarrassment, of getting caught. I parked, thanking the inertia that has us still driving an anonymous van rather than one painted with the Tumbling Shoals Farm logo. I walked into the rear entrance, ostensibly to use the restroom first, but probably just in case I got caught on the way in, I still had the ready excuse of the restroom. But then my desire for salt and fat had me up front in front of all those people. My eyes darted furtively around me, “why is that man looking at me that way, does he know me?” “What if someone here saw the article in the Welcome to Wilkes magazine?” I wished for a disguise while I silently tapped my foot waiting for the contraband, cringing every time the door opened with fear of a familiar face. I nearly ran to the van with my booty and relief washed over me as I pulled away. I got away with it! And then, to my desperately awaiting mouth went a french fry and woosh, all of that anticipated joy was lost. Ugh. Not even worth it. Old stale McDonalds french fries. Should have stuck with local stuff.