Twiddling Thumbs

i. on monday, it's definitely not heaven in mcdonalds

[Seth to the side!]

Have you ever been to McDonalds early (I mean, five o’clock in the morning) on a Monday morning? If you haven’t, then you’re brilliant. If you have, then you understand my situation. I don’t know how to explain how obnoxious and unnecessary most of these people standing in line are. I think the worst situation I’ve experienced, so far, was the original: “exercise is great!” mom that babbled in her cell phone while her baby that sat in the stroller by her feet cried loudly, resulting in giving the whole area around them headaches. Is it safe to say that I almost threw the baby across the room and out the window? My headache doesn’t say otherwise.

“Hey,” someone beside me whined, “you’re stepping on my foot.” I jolted from my daydream, my eyes taking in my surroundings. Currently, I was standing in line at the McDonalds just down the road from my house. You’d think, it’d being almost five in the morning, no one would be even remotely interested in waking up and coming to McDonalds at this hour. Well, you thought wrong. I’ve been standing in this line–this deadly line–where people keep complaining about how long the line is, someone stepping on their foot, or how it is ‘too early for this’, for about forty-five minutes. I almost smacked a lady for trying to cut in front of me, but, lucky for her, I held back my anger.

I felt a push on my shoulder, sending me almost flying to the ground. I caught my balance and glanced up angrily at the stranger in front of me. I didn’t get to catch the face, because all I heard was a quick “sorry”, and the stranger rushed out the door. I turned back to the front when I heard another voice coming from beside me. “You’re still on my foot.” She whined again, and I–about to knock this girls head off, because let’s face it, it’s way too early for this–turned to her.

“Then, uh, move your foot, so it’s not in my way,” I replied angrily, turning back to the front before I caused a scene. I just wanted my food, so I could get to school. I checked my watch. I’ve got thirty minutes, I reminded myself, I’ve still got plenty of time. I’m so close to the front. I let my gaze wander the room to pass the extra time. My eyes fell on a black haired boy sitting all alone at, what looked like, table four.

He sat alone, his head stuck in a book. His glasses–reading glasses, from what I could tell–fell down from the bridge of his nose, and he pushed them back up, refocusing on the book once again. He had already gotten his breakfast–lucky–I concluded, by the wrappers of McDonalds sausage biscuits surrounding him. He had one stuffed in his hand, holding it by the wrapper. He took large bites, like he hadn’t ate in days.

He turned the page in his book. It made me wonder what he was reading. You should talk to him after you get your food, a voice in the back of my head ordered. But, I countered back, I really should be going. I nodded to myself. It could be the last time you see him, the voice reminded. You may never, ever see him again, and you’ll be wondering what exactly he was reading for the rest of your life, the voice paused, go.

I know exactly what you were thinking, but if you hadn’t guessed it already, it’s my conscience talking to me. Overruled, I thought, by a voice in the back of my head. Gee, thanks, conscience. A hand waved in my face, and my eyes flew back to the speaker. “Can I take your order, miss?” the McDonalds cashier asked, his eyes darting to where mine were just before. He smirked, “Ah, I see you found Seth. He’s quite the reader. He sits there almost everyday and reads, probably, three chapters a day.” he rubbed his chin. “Almost every week, he comes in with a new book. This week he’s reading some Jerry Spinelli novel.”

“How’d you know?” I tilted my head to the left curiously. He scratched the back of his head, glancing behind me. He looked behind himself, probably checking to see if anyone was watching.