Jill M. Moore
WRA 355
Fast Food Writing
You’ve Lost That Loving Feeling
He walked into that Wendy's restaurant like he owned the place. He didn't follow his parents to the register; nope, he danced right over to the mass of empty tables and chairs and began zigzagging his way through the dining room. He sang to himself, unaware or maybe just indifferent to the other patrons in the restaurant. He was a little guy – no more than three feet tall, his crisp white shirt a sharp contrast to both his ironed black trousers and dark brown skin. His shiny black shoes in combination with his neatly pressed ensemble strongly indicated that he had just come from church.
His parents called him over to the register to place his order. After much deliberation, he proudly and firmly stated he would like the chicken nuggets, his tiny face barely reaching over the counter but so determined his demands be met. When his assistance was no longer required, he retreated to the bright yellow toy display case where he thoughtfully considered which toy he would claim; this month's selection was five cool toys based on classic children's films from Universal Studios. He pointed at the tiny gray DeLorean from “Back to the Future,” affirming that it was, indeed, an excellent choice. Even the toys couldn't hold his attention for long though and he quickly shifted gears. He climbed up and balanced himself on the line dividers, making a jungle gym out of an everyday object, one that most adults consider a small annoyance or inconvenience. He hopped and skipped around, investigating all the fun this restaurant had to offer while his parents gathered all the necessary items for dining: napkins, straws, salt, ketchup.
This got me thinking. I started to compare the adult vs. child fast-food dining experience. When you're a kid, eating at a fast-food restaurant is a treat, you get to eat exciting food that doesn't taste like the food mom makes at home, and for the most part, the choice is yours. You can even order the food yourself, and of course once the total is announced, you're free to step aside. You don’t have to worry about the financial aspect of this trip, that's not your business here. Fast-food restaurants offer an environment different from home, less controlled and more fun. And most importantly, you get a toy out of the whole deal! How much better could it get?
As an adult, however, this experience is much different. Fast-food dining isn't all fun and games anymore. The call of the bright colors and hip toys no longer entices you. Somehow the magic has disappeared. Instead, your main concern is getting the quick-fix fast food delivers. And no longer can you step aside when the total is announced; this time it's you their outstretched hands reach toward. And though the food might taste good, in the back of your mind you're wracked with
guilt – you know how unhealthy this grease-coated slab of meat covered in melted cheese and mayonnaise really is. You know this is not nutritional, not even a little bit.
So when does this transformation take place? I don't remember a defining trip to the fast-food restaurant when it was no longer exciting, but instead costly and ridden with guilt. I don’t remember when the immediacy of food replaced the powerful call of the Barbie toys at McDonald’s. And I don’t remember when dipping chicken nugs in ranch dressing became disgusting instead of delicious. When is the cut-off point? And was I better off when I naively thought of these places as toy stores with food? I question if knowing what’s really in the food I’m consuming and how absolutely detrimental it is to my body is really better than unknowingly, but happily, chowing down on some greasy fries. Knowledge or ignorance, guilt or pleasure. It’s hard to make this distinction, but perhaps there is a purpose in this change. In all other aspects of life, growing up means becoming accountable for yourself – this must just be another place that holds true.