The Golden Arches

You know there are worse ways to start the day than with a little McDonald's. Now, it may be gourmet, and I don't think my Mireille (French Women . . .) would necessarily approve, but my grilled Ranch BLT was divine. And I even had a little apple pie. A very comforting start to my morning . . . or noon. Last night at work was just plain shit-crazy. 4 more days, 4 more days, 4 more days. Why did the entire state of New Jersey decide to bring their kids to IU and then eat at my sushi restaurant? Why? Sir, why are you yelling at me? Who really needs to eat dinner as a group of sixteen? Terrifying. 16 hungry, sushi-crazed faces, starring you down as if I set out to ruin their evening. Terrifying. Oh, and the East Coasters love to pull the I have money card, the I eat in Manhattan card. Ooooo, so do six million other people. Sir, you are from New Jersey. Oh my God, am I going to turn into one of those demented diners invading the Midwest. Terrifying. So, after an extremely trying shift that I thought would never end, I somehow made it to the bar in one piece. And it was time to throw down. Apparently, everyone else got the memo, because they were all tore up by the time I got there. It was great to see so many of my old friends and sad to say a few goodbyes, or at least see you when I see you. Luckily, we all made it home in one piece, the ambiguities of the evening's end still in the air this morning. Needless to say, we all felt a little hagard when we awoke. At least, there's always McDonald's in the morning.