McSludge

McSludge
by Heather Roscoe

Taking my brother -- ten years my junior, on a trip several days ago -- I asked him where he wanted to eat.

"McDonald's," came the terrifying reply.

I realized that it had been about seven years since I'd been within 100 yards of a McDonald's building, much less eaten any of the food. Arriving at the drive-through window I was greeted by a bored, droopy eyed girl in a tired purple uniform, who stared, eyes half shut, as I dug through my wallet -- only to discover I had forgotten to exchange all of my Canadian money for greenbacks.

I sat in my car, staring dumbly, at the colorful array of loonys and toonys, trying to decide how I was going to explain this one, "Umm..."

Little brother saved the day with a few American dollars and we were on our way. He feeling complacent and happy, me feeling confused and stupid. I opened the paper wrapper and glared at the moist lump in front of me -- this pitiful excuse for food. My brother stared at me curiously and asked me if I was hungry. I managed a weak smile and told him I was just taking a few minutes to reflect on the life of the poor cow that was slaughtered and then ground up and mixed with fillers, shot with chemicals, smashed into a patty and slapped on a greasy skillet -- the cow who gave up its meaningless life of wandering around a stock yard for me.

"OK" he said as he started to attack his meal. Something obviously went over his head.

Not that I'm a vegetarian, actually, my problem is that 'food establishments' like McDonald's are allowed to make atrocities like Cajun McChicken and Big Extra burgers and sell them to people under the title of "food."

Food is supposed to be fuel-nourishment and energy for your body so that all of your moving parts have the ability to function. An hour later I was feeling as sluggish and lethargic as a South American tree sloth, without even enough energy to get up and walk to the mailbox. Hopefully I'll be able to jog it off later...

McDonald's is a symbol of American culture, but it holds deeper meaning than a play place for bratty children and a happy clown in big red shoes. McDonald's, with its quick ordering and efficient ... food delivery is one of the Founding Fathers of American impatience.

Speed is the only existence that many people know. "Fast" food is delivered to us in our cars, barely stopped long enough for us to exchange money for McChicken burger, speed coffee is now available at drive-through Starbucks -- forget a peaceful pre-work coffee and the morning paper, just turn on radio to catch the news and drink your coffee from a plastic cup while frantically weaving through a.m. gridlock. Speed money can be made easily in the stock market and on the Internet; money that can be spent on fast cars, fast computers and fast women.

No real solution is immediately apparent. Ripping modern technology away from us is not the answer, but neither is creating new technological wonders to "make our lives simpler."

Ever notice that all of our new inventions purposed to make things simpler end up doing the exact opposite? Eventually we become slaves to our machines. Originally designed to work for us, we have to make more money to buy and update them and we spend more time fixing all of their intricate parts when they break.

I suppose we'll get used to the accelerated pace eventually -- we're almost there, after all -- but not yet. Many of us turn to health spas and yoga classes, go out in the wilderness somewhere and become one with nature. It's a pity that after all of that stretching, sitting, meditating and breathing fresh air, life returns to normal once we're returned to the work environment.

I'm not claiming superiority to anyone here. This morning, as I attempted to access the Internet to check my email, I found myself irritated, "The net is too slow, no, my modem is too slow. What's wrong with this thing? This is such a waste of time, email is supposed to be fast!"

After checking the mail I dashed out to my car, and rushed off to take care of the business of the day, probably not as urgent or important as I made it out to be. I can't slow down either. Stress presses on me during the day when I find I haven't enough time to get everything done, and at night when I'm tossing around in bed thinking of all the time I could save if I were still active and productive. Happy is the day when our lives are no longer too much for us to handle.

McDonald's might be an easy solution but it's not an enjoyable one. If I ever have to resort to eating sludge like that again I'll give up all together and move to Madagascar, where everyday life, I'm sure, is much slower.