The Great French Fry Heist

"All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream." -Edgar Allan Poe

Photo by Sander Sammy on Unsplash

In college, I studied at the local McDonalds. It was a distinctly “non-scholastic” environment, which comforted me. McDonalds presented less pressure for academic productivity than the quiet, austere, dark study rooms at the university library. And the people watching at McDonalds was way better. McDonalds also allowed me to nurture my not so healthy but immensely satisfying love of fast food. Nothing beats a cherry coke and a Big Mac to kick off a three-hour organic chemistry mid-term review sesh.

One busy fall day, I rushed into McDonalds with even more books in tow than usual. It was a Thursday, around noon. I was finishing a paper for my Shakespeare class while preparing for a mid-term organic chemistry exam.

I hurriedly ordered my usual- a number one Big Mac combo meal with small fries and a diet coke. I was being “healthy” by ordering the small versus large fries and a diet versus regular coke.   (The stories we tell ourselves.) I quickly collected my standard meal and dumped my books and laptop at the last remaining empty booth.  On this day, the small fast food dining area was hopping.

I flung open my laptop and started scanning through the second half of my Shakespeare term paper. Out of nowhere, an older gentleman with thick glasses and a silver beard suddenly appeared. Holding his plastic food tray in hand, he stood right over me and peered intently. I tried to ignore him.

He gently cleared his throat and asked, “Miss, would you mind if I share your booth for lunch on this opposite side?” He gestured to the seating in front of me at the plastic red booth.  “It looks to be a pretty busy day here,” he continued, glancing around and laughing nervously. Sensing my hesitation, he continued, “I promise not to disturb you.”

Trying to hide my irritation at the interruption, I quickly muttered, “Sure, no problem.” I was careful not to make eye contact. I didn’t want to encourage further conversation. Looking relieved, the nervous man quickly sat down. He spread out his food on the remaining table space. Various notepads, papers, pens, highlighters, and textbooks now covered most of the table’s surface area like pieces of litter blanketing a red plastic ocean. I like to come prepared.

The older man carefully unfolded his paper napkin and draped it across his lap. He unwrapped his burger and took a big bite into the juicy quarter pounder with cheese. Shifting his gaze from the bright aluminum food wrap to dull and dark newspaper print, he leisurely opened the morning edition of The New York Times.  Relieved that his focus was now elsewhere, I tried to pull my own attention back to my laptop and Shakespeare, while taking a big gulp of my ice-cold diet coke.

My French fries were sitting in the middle of the table, in a kind of neutral Sweden-like area. The fries sat proudly perched in between The Fundamentals of Organic Chemistry and Shakespeare: The Classics-a glorious culinary reprieve in a sea of academic seriousness. I reached for a fry, thoughtfully chewing and contemplating how best to summarize symbolism in MacBeth. The fry was invitingly crispy and surprisingly warm.

My mind drifted off to the pros and cons of buying an air fryer. As I talked myself into the additional expense, it happened.  Without saying a word or looking up, the older gentleman reached over and grabbed one of my French fries. Unlike the initial booth sharing request, this time he did not ask permission. He made no eye contact. He simply picked up one of my precious hot fries and began chewing away. I stared at him in disbelief.

I was shocked and irritated at the forwardness of it all. Maybe he’s homeless and hungry with no money, I thought. I took a second look at his attire. His crisp khaki shorts, his newspaper choice, and his car keys on the table all argued otherwise.

I struggled to brush it off and pull my focus back to MacBeth. Just as I was moving on from the first French fry assault, his wrinkled hands drifted back towards the Sweden zone. This time he swiped a handful of my fries. Gasp! Heist number two.

Remember, I had exercised stoic nutritional restraint by ordering a small size fry to be healthy. So there were not many fries left now. My prized and perfectly cooked fried bites of heaven were disappearing before my very eyes. My initial surprise and mild irritation morphed into full blown outrage. I was incensed by his sense of entitlement. First, you invade my self-created table bubble. Then, you proceed to gobble up my fries without as much as a please or thank you? The nerve.

My face grew red with indignation. I could feel my blood pressure rising. Peaking over my laptop, I studied his countenance carefully. As he ate my fries, he calmy turned the page of The New York Times and blissfully sighed, pretending to be unaware or unbothered by his blatant fast-food theft. This must be a specific tactic he had developed and perfected. A sophisticated cost savings measure. Nonconsensual food consumption. The execution of this strategy relied on the premise that the victim’s mix of shock, discomfort, and surprise would paralyze him/her from reacting.

Hmpff! I scowled at him now. I lowered my head and slowly narrowed my eyes from their usual sweet baby blue round saucers to cold, steel blue slits. But this time it was he who did not return eye contact.

You aren’t getting away with this, buddy. Not with this fiery southern girl. Without saying a word, I impulsively grabbed the red and yellow cardboard fry container, pressed it up to my mouth, leaned my head back, and shoveled the remaining six fries down my throat. To unequivocally signal my indignation, I slammed the fry container down on the table as hard as I could. That’ll teach him.

Startled, the older gentleman visibly jumped as I slammed the cardboard down. He cautiously looked up from the newspaper. His eyes darted from the empty container to my face, seemingly bewildered. A small bead of sweat ran down the left of his face. He cocked his head slightly to the right, as if trying to solve a deep mystery. He looked truly puzzled. Yea, look mystified. Good addition to the act, I thought to myself. I slowly shook my head.

He went back to hiding behind the newspaper, this time slowly raising the pages up higher. The black and white type now completely obscured his entire torso. Yea. Hide your sinful, greasy, fry thieving face behind the innocent veil of modern media. Shame on you.

I finished my Big Mac and diet coke. I was still fuming over the brazen food robbery. On second thought, maybe I should relocate to the library after all. This place is just too distracting for me today. I still had a paper to finish and a mid-term to cram for. But my thoughts remained stubbornly fixated on the indignity of the fry pilfering.

Yep, time to go, I said to myself. I can’t be around this criminal any longer. I gathered my pens, highlighters, papers, notebooks, and books.

And as I put my ginormous Shakespeare book away, there it was. Instant humiliation and shame pumped through my veins as my face turned pale. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Right there, now flattened by the heavy weight of the textbook (and my crushed ego), lay my order of small fries.

I made a bee-line for the front door. As I rushed out, I could picture the great Obi-Wan Kenobi, cautioning Luke Skywalker, “So what I told you was true, from a certain point of view…. You're going to find that many of the truths we cling to, young Jedi, depend greatly on our own point of view."

-Lauren