There are no pies for sale at McDonald’s, but I saw Joe Hill; the Swedish song writer who moved to America, joined a union and got executed. Or it looked like him and he talked about ketchup and taxes. I invited him for a coffee yesterday and we saw everyone there.
It was good to be back at McDonalds; diving headfirst into a 99 cent burger; the splash of dirty mop water; the paper place mates to scribble letters i will never send. The conversation of strangers, the comfy padded booths and free refills or they used to be free. Whatever, a muffin and a coffee is only 1.87. Now let’s kick back and enjoy some democracy I say to myself.
Where else can you find the whole damn world and this particular McDeees was on Cote Des Neiges street and it had no outlets or WiFi or at least I didn’t see any and hot damn! the whole damn world with nothing but eyes and dares and conversation sparks; make love the old-fashioned way. Earn it in person; mano a mano. No more on-line cutism or bully shit. This was face to face, do or die. Make love, not war.
Make an ass of yourself; public humiliation, the red cheeks and sweaty palms nerves are a good enough baptism for me; a real scramble to jump start conversation or admire self consciously from a far; fondle the sugar packets in silence, but these were not rectangular sugar packets and there was no sugar tower in sight.
These were paper viles or cylinder shaped and all the sugar flows out in one funnel like action. You can even hear the sound of the granules hitting the coffee. I’m making way too big deal of this, but I do that with everything because I’m bored. This Joe Hill looking dude is interested and ads, “Maybe the ketchup situation can be rectified now.”
Good point. We go to the moon, but can’t solve the world’s greatest condiment.
This is a newer McDonalds. It replaced a diner where political talk used to go down or up. It’s beside a book store where there’s plenty of chairs to loiter all day if you want and no need to buy a damn thing. Cant say the same about this McDonalds. It looks space age with weird shaped chairs that have no backs.
What ever happened to booths? Or at least chairs with backs? This is a bus cabin situation I think; an attempt to move people along; be productive and efficient. No loitering allowed. There’s no sign, but it’s implied. Freaking scarecrows and metal spikes. Deterrents. Keep pigeons off buildings; bums out of bus cabins and the rest of us in and out of McDonalds.
Big bummer because loitering is my third favorite sport; right behind pacing and walking. Bus cabins should be fold out sofas and please revive padded booths in 24 hour restaurants like Ma Fischers on Milwaukee’s East Side or Denny’s with its underrated selection of pies.
A pie is a very versatile thing. There are meat pies and spice pies and lemon meringue pies and apple pies and potato knish pies and pumpkin pies and pies for whatever we want.
Baseball players throw pies in each others faces.The tradition is called pieing. The pie arrives as a surprise when a player is interviewed. It would be nice to see pieing after a walk off hit. Fans could get in on the action; throwing food at each other.
Defy the horses. Raid the field, just like the 1970’s. Dance crazy and rip up the grass. I’d rather see a pock marked field with holes than the smooth babies ass face of diamonds these days so easy . My grandma could be Andrelton Simmons.
All it would take is one food item tossed and a full fledged food fight could begin. The Brewers had a walk off last night; plenty of pats on Lyle Overbay’s ass and head, a huge fireworks celebration, water tossed, but no pies. You’d think the Brewers just won game 7 of the World Series. Final Score; Brewers 3, Reds 2.
It was very regular, just another game in this long life of thousands of years, but it was everything. It was god damn Pie in the Sky and we were just as high as any so called famous moment from the glorious past.
The Brewers are 77-71.