Not-So-Fast Food

Some Gravel

"So - Howze everyone feeling tonight ?" Time to come up for air but nothing in those tepid waters worth mention. Since my revolt from fast food together with the brick and mortar that houses them, my culinar-social life has turned a little ... bland. Kinda like boiled Githeri with no salt, but a few degrees more tasteless than Uganga if that's even a tad fathomable. The mama-drama from drama-mamas rumbling on about being pillaged for mac and cheese; double-trouble from double-chinned urchins with never enough capital for that McTriple stack-shaker or whatever they call it nowadays. I call it capital coz some of these lads and lasses chow down like they're investing in something - like more real estate around the tailpipe area. I guess you could say, albeit very loosely, that they're into real estate. Conclusively, hence therefore, this sector of the populace can be considered realtors or landlords, but off-course - do not try at home - use at your own risk.

Does so transpire, much to my chagrin, that my times in these establishments are dotted with some self-inflicted episodes of humility and instantaneous learning. Take, for instance, a time at the McEatery when I confidently requested my complete nutritional meal comprised of "just chips and tomato sauce." Wooo-ha, the food service expert gave me that what-trainwreck-did-they-pull-your-behind-from look. Bila shame bila haya bila repentence - I rewind and come again. Selekta. In my mind I'm thinking - "if you could take off that stage-artist wannabe contraption from your head and stop listening to that snootie and the hoefish, the remnant earwax will not stop my oral diction from getting to your head. Little did I know that this contraption was part of "work-gear." At this point I felt like I could make more sense talking to a pumpkin or cabbagehead with eyes and a mouth drawn on it.

I conveniently omit (for fear of being labelled an exiled casual farm-hand) ... that I walked into this joint 30min prior to this, and NO they had NO long lines. Me, I McDaringly sat at the McTable waiting for a waiter, obviously drawing some form of parallels between this place and Wimpy. Needless to say, no waiter came over, but yes my keen self observed that newcomers were going up-front and speaking to some McShorry with some helicopter pilot thing hugging her scalp. Shortly after they would get a bag, a coke, a smile and ... you know the rest.

So, any howly, I tried that formula for fit and it raptured in my face. As per Miss McThing, chips are sold at the store and tomato sauce is sold there too. What store ? Bear in mind that where I'm from the store is that little room near the kitchen where they keep excessive foodtuffs. Total bewilderment !!! Like Lucy asked ... Who is you mother ? What ? You miserable excuse for service - I can see the damn products with my naked eyes .. did you graduate from Thika School for the Blind ? After sheepishly pointing my finger to the delicacies she gives me McOrdering 101 .. "You mean fries and ketchup ?" Yes, Ms Bigshot you spoiled brat of a brag, just coz I aint got no job doesn't mean you wipe the floor with my rasa in front of everyone. Yes, not chips and tomato sauce .... fries and ketchup - you just saved a life you underachieving McNothing, go hug a tree ,wipe a tear, then give me my godamn ... whatever you wanna call it. This episode scarred me for quite sometime coz I could only fries and ketchup - the only things I could comfortably order.

The Ripple

There has to be a place in heaven for the inventer of The drive-through™. From the comfort of your sled-mobile in yourveryownspace.com - uninterrupted from your Soukouss Vibration 'volume si' - you can order your 8 chicken rings with an equivalent number of munchkin sized burgers.

Though, howeverly how, even the drive-through is not 100% devoid of muttonheads. Once, while lining up after ordering, this you're-not-fast-enough-for-me customer leaves the line after ordering ... and steers his shag-mobile through the exit. So I pull up and Ms Mentally-Astute attempts to give me Mr Shag-mobile's food and I go 'uh-uh.' The stupid broad looks me in the eye and chides because .... "You must have jumped the line." No breath was being wasted here - 'uh-uh' I refuse - my breath would be better spent blowing a hurricane back into the Atlantic or whatever watermass they come from. This is the reason why some people should not work. She would be better off with lipstick, mascara, lotsa eye-shadow; spreading her legs like a rumor on 1&9. Yeah I said it - again.