McAngels

by Linda Hagen

My wait at the traffic signal seemed interminable. Sweat ran down my face on this, the fifth day in a row of suffocating July temperatures.  My water jug was empty, my truck's AC was on the fritz, and my mood was growing more foul by the moment. I endured my time in the red light purgatory by studying the McDonald's billboard across the road.


There, featured in all its glory was... a chocolate shake.  An extreme close up of the twelve foot tall shake showed little rivulets of water running down the outside of the cup. So cool to the fingertips. Inside the cup, well, inside was that heavenly, chocolaty, thick, cold creamy shake, guaranteed to slake the thirst and soothe the soul. And there was the McDonald's, right around the corner.

My job in the home building industry required that I drive from one dusty construction site to another. I usually avoided fast food joints by packing my own food and drink, but not today. Today, I left my lunchbox, together with any reasonable attitude, sitting on the kitchen counter at home. So here I was in the middle of the afternoon, disgusted, empty, parched, and yes, mesmerized by the hope offered on that billboard.

Red light seconds crawled by, and I argued with myself about the high calorie content of chocolate shakes conflicting with my dedication (albeit largely unsuccessful) to my strict weight loss program, now in its 20th year. As heat waves radiated up from the asphalt, an unfortunately timed hot flash sent me over the edge. Yes! I'll do it! I deserve a shake today!

Finally, as red turned to green, I swerved across traffic into the McDonald's parking lot. I would go inside where there was air conditioning, and sit at one of the little plastic booths, away from the maddening crowd and savor slowly, my chocolate shake.

As one emerging from the Sahara heat, I stepped into the cool oasis- only to find myself at the end of a long line. One slow moving, disinterested girl was waiting on customers. You see? This is the problem with fast food restaurants! Nothing fast about it.

Finally they opened second register, staffed it with an equally bored person, and another line formed next to mine. As we, like cattle in chutes, oh so slowly shuffled ahead, a nagging awareness of my impatience and poor attitude made its way to the forefront of my mind. I tried to send it back. Now was not the time to consider this unsatisfied state I had been living in for, well, how long has it been? Days? Weeks? It wasn't just this insufferable heat, was it?

My thoughts were interrupted by the two newcomers in the next line. A handsome, no, beautiful black man and a five year old version of himself, too cute for words. Both were brilliant in white tuxedos and bronzed skin. They had shed their ties and opened the top buttons of their shirts, relaxing I assumed, after an afternoon wedding or some such event. The others in line noticed them, too. They seemed pleased to be here, (an oddity in itself), and the boy said, "Daddy, I'm so happy today. Can I have a Happy Meal?"

The father smiled at his son and said, "Son, it makes me happy to buy you a Happy Meal!" (Personally, I am suspicious of this degree of happiness in McDonalds.)

The boy said, "I can't wait to get my Happy Meal, Daddy!"  (Yeah well, good luck with that, kid.)

Their line was moving faster. (of course). When they stepped up to the counter, the father said "Tell the nice lady what you would like son."

The expectant cherubic face asked, "May I have a Happy Meal, please?"

"I'm sorry, we're out of Happy Meals."

A collective, sympathetic groan went up from the cattle chutes. It's just wrong to disappoint a child like that, especially one so happy. We all listened for the father’s response. Would he chastise the server? Complain loudly perhaps? Ask for the manager?

"Well son, I'm sorry there are no happy meals, but we will be grateful to have something else, won't we? What else would you like to have today?"  I just shook my head, annoyed for them since they refused to be.

Then Slow Mover behind the counter said, "Is this for here or to go?" Yes! She was speaking to me! Salvation, at last! 

I applied a smile to my face (because I am a Christian and also I now live in the South) and ordered eagerly, "A large chocolate shake, please. For here."

"I'm sorry, ma'am, the shake machine is broken."

What? 

My smile fractured and fell off my face. The pieces clattered onto the tile floor, and my true expression was revealed; a steely eyed glare that caused Slow Mover to step back.

In stunned denial and disbelief, I said, "Well can I have a strawberry shake?"

"I'm sorry ma'am, the shake machine is broken."

"So you have no shakes?

"No Ma'am, we don't.  Is there something else I can get for you?"

"O.K.  Fine, I'll have a diet Coke. You do have diet Coke, don't you?"

"Yes ma'am", sighed Slow Mover, the encounter wearing her out.

Impulsively, I added, "And an order of fries. Supersize." (arrrrrggghhhh)

I stepped aside to wait, muttering not all that quietly to myself, "Un-believable!"

My attention was drawn again to the beautiful bronze man and the boy. Paying for their order, the man said to the server, "I'll bet you work extra hard on days like this."

"Yeah". she said, "Some people are in a bad mood. I mean, I just work here. I do my best, but it's hard. I'm just trying to earn a little extra money to buy school supplies for my boy since got laid off from my other job."

"Well, we thank you for doing a good job, don't we son? And God bless you!"

The words washed over her face, changing her expression from thirsty desert to well watered garden.

Oh, there it is. That quiet voice. Graceful, Undeniable. Yes, Lord, I guess I have been a tad impatient and out of sorts today. Or maybe for awhile. OK, OK. My attitude stinks. 

Slow Mover approached with my Diet Coke and fries. She eyed me suspiciously as I managed say "Thank You" in spite of myself. Perhaps I misjudged her. Perhaps I judged her at all.

Still hoping for the quiet solitude of a plastic booth in the back, I carried my tray around the corner only to discover the entire seating section awash with noisy, squirming kids and sweating parents trying to escape the heat.

Well yes, there was one booth open, don't you know. Directly across from the beautiful bronze man and the boy.

I slid in and drank my Diet Coke. Contemplating this strange little scenario that continued to unfold around me, I heard the boy say, "Let me say the grace Daddy!" And he told Jesus how grateful he was for his food and his Daddy and McDonald's. And also, could the Lord please help the nice lady buy school supplies for her little boy.

Ashamed now, of my abominable, ungrateful, impatient, immature attitude. I silently repented and agreed with the Lord to try to pattern myself more after these two in the booth across. If nothing else, they were obviously enjoying their day far more than I mine.

I thanked God for His Grace, this Diet Coke, air conditioning, and even Slow Mover.

Father and son finished their meal and stood up to leave. Sliding out of the booth, they both turned directly and purposefully towards me. 

The man looked me dead in the eye, and with a quick nod and a smile said, "You have a blessed day." And they left.