Holding the Bag

                                                        

                                        Daniel Austin

I found a Zombie hiding in the bathroom at McDonald’s. I opened a stall, and there he was, maybe six feet tall with a ponytail and black­-framed glasses with thick lenses, and wearing a black tee shirt touting a reunion tour for Black Sabbath. Madras shorts, bottomed off with a pair of well­-worn Birkenstocks, he was not much on looks because he had the usual zombie pallor, death gray with flaps of skin hanging off him. And he grunted like he had rocks in his mouth when he talked, and had a hard time walking. He jounced, and parts of him fell on the floor. No big deal, I said to myself. I would pick up the parts and put them in a plastic bag and reattach them at a later date. (Note to self: think about stocking up on plastic baggies, plastic covers for my furniture and air freshener.) A few minor obstacles, but I thought he was beautiful, and he was mine. I named him Ozzie Mac D. The only worry I could foresee was my girlfriend, I wondered if she would let me keep him.

I hustled Ozzie Mac D out of the bathroom and into my car. I pulled up to the drive-in window and ordered him a bunch of hamburgers to keep him happy, I hoped. No worries there. He did not seem to care what was in the bag, only that it passed for food. The way he devoured them made me think he would probably do anything for a bag of burgers, and he probably would not even care if they got his order wrong.

Go Figure. A gazillion-dollar empire responsible for serving up an average of 50 million burgers a day, but has yet to figure out how put the correct items in the bag at the drive­-up window. Instead of getting the plain hamburger you ordered, you end up getting a cheeseburger with onions when you open the bag a mile down the road. Or maybe an apple pie or a chicken sandwich. Anything but what you ordered.

I had plans for Ozzie Mac D, and the first thing I wanted to do was teach him to drive. I soon discovered his driving skills weren’t all that great. He did not seem to retain anything I taught him, and he was not motivated. So I reverted to the secret weapon - ­­a bag of burgers. He improved by the end of the day, and three bags later, Ozzie Mac D was driving. Far from perfection, but he was at least able to negotiate the route we traveled on earlier test runs to McDonalds without any major damage. Oh sure, there were a few minor dents on the fenders of the car, and a few mail boxes and parking meters that needed some TLC, but he was driving. Besides, It was time for dinner.