Fast Food Slavery

I’m getting so sensitive. I can barely stand to order food from make-it-your-way joints like chipotle or subway or panda express any more. 

I can’t look at those people on the other side of the counter as they scrape that big metal spoon across that big metal tray and hand me my $12 modern food slop with that painful customer service smile. 

I look into their eyes and see no remaining trace of human dignity.

I look into their eyes and wish that they weren’t here, wasting the most fertile years of their life behind the counter of this Panda Express, short-staffed, yelling about fried rice and broccoli, on this dark Sunday afternoon in Boise Idaho. 

I wish that machines did this. I wish the machines were required to ask me if I wanted to donate 12 cents to the St. Jude’s Children’s Fund, so I wouldn’t have to look at this tired human being in the eyes and say “No.”