mccafe act I

In an attempt to understand things as they might eventually be, we've started going to fast food restaurants, including Wacarnold's, for things like toilets and coffee. I've known for some time now there's been something called a McCafe available in beta form from the midwestern state locations of this restaurant . A McCafe is a smelly tiled room with doors on either side and an antique looking clock on one wall, and a row of indigents in black polo shirts leaning against a counter on the other. Behind the lineup of have-nots is a maze of shelving that is very brightly lit. There are often two shades of 12" tiles on the floor, and sponge painted walls to fashion the feeling of being in a stuccoed vault. Most things on the menu are hyphenated, or should be, hinting at a vague flavor to be combined with whipped cream or butter to fashion an enormous beverage that costs between $2 and $4. "Foamo-Vanilla Breath" and "Cool Mocha Endulife" are two popular choices available in Large and Super exclusively. Aerosolized oil overwhelms as you try to catch enough breath to mouth softly what must be such a foreign phrase to their ears; "I'd like a double espresso." Their plastic stare moves from my clothing (which is designer-label only now) to my iPhone ("it lights up like a Zenith," they think) to the computer terminal in front of their deeply creased wrists. Nothing else happens for a few seconds until The Huddle is called.

Most of the place hints at effeciency: "next register" signs large enough to read in your sleep; numbered grids on the counter to indicate where your purchase will be eventually be placed; buttons and levers dispensing anything liquid enough to squirt; stacks of boxed food items ready to be bagged and tagged for distribution. But ordering espresso causes these portly pushers to huddle and question and calculate for so long as to become a wicked stooge-like parody of their own inconceivable selves. Usually they call someone named Anne or Roy to help, who is always mustachioed regardless of gender and wearing a stained striped shirt and bowtie. Eventually, a huge cup with a dot of tan liquid within is placed in my manicured hand, pungently steaming it's elite intentions.