tired fools

i saw this, via metafilter, and thought of a story i wrote. the bbc wouldn’t take it because of mcdonald’s litigious nature. i pointed out that it wasn’t anti-mcDs, or indeed anything else. they asked me to change the name to something else and get rid of the references to a real company:

the golden arch

“Define it then.” Says Naz. “Go on, what is it? I mean, how would you know if a deaf, dumb, and blind man was enlightened?”
“You could just tell.” Answers Saffie.
“Bollocks,” says Naz, “ you can’t just tell? He has to do something.”

Next April, Saffie and Naz will have been together for ten years. Everyone knew they were made for each other. They’d lived together for eight of those years, with only one six month interval, during which Naz went to find himself somewhere in the Hindu Kush. The fact that he had really found himself in the sweaty arms of an Australian back-packer named Sandy was never made known to Saffie. Still, thought Naz, she’d have forgiven him anyway. Saffie, of course, had never strayed. That time in Bali with the black South African hadn’t counted, not really. Her Catholic upbringing allowed her to view that as being something quite different, no penetration was involved after all. No, the two of them were an item; they belonged together, to each other.

Arriving in Katmandu after a short flight from Bangkok, Saffie felt a release she had not expected. The turmoil she had felt in her brain, Naz, England, that whole insecurity thing, was in front of her, in the narrow streets and mayhem. You had to let it wash over you, not let your own shit get in the way, no time for it, no space. Saffie had a purpose here; no idle sightseeing travelers’ trail this. A mission, something she believed in, something important. Saffie was happy, she smiled, very happy.
****
James heard the flurry of activity around him and knew the cabin crew was clearing up for the final time before landing. His shallow meal tray was whisked away, hardly touched, with a polite nod. He arched his back, stretched his neck, and flexed his fingers, tried to get the blood flowing again. He looked out of the window: Nepal. He could murder a BigMac and fries.

He wondered whether the boys from Illinois had ever come out here. He guessed that someone must have. He supposed that someone from Illinois had to have been to every restaurant. But no any one individual had done it, he was pretty sure of that. There were now over 25,000 of them in 117 countries. Not bad for what was once a west coast hamburger stand.

California 1955. Dick and Mac McDonald ran this hamburger stand in San Bernadino. One day they are approached by this guy, Ray Kroc. He had exclusive distribution rights to a milkshake mixer. He noticed that one customer; a solitary hamburger stand was running eight of these mixers. He wondered if there was something in this, some secret or mode of operation that he could use or pass on to his customers to promote the sale of more mixers. This was post war America, times were good. Ray worked hard and he wanted to be rich.

Ray traveled to California and took a look at Dick and Mac’s stand. Straight away he was impressed. They talked for a while about franchising the operation, Ray spying an eight mixer sale to each new branch. When the boys questioned who would open up these new places, Ray suggested himself. The boys had the name, but Ray was the true father of The Golden Arch.

The first real McDonalds opened 15 April 1955 at 400 Lee Street, Des Plaines, Illinois. The first day’s takings was $366.12. Today it turns over $40 billion dollars a year.

James knew it all, he was an aficionado. He’d been to that first restaurant. Now rebuilt to the original blueprints as a museum for the McDonalds Corporation. It was walking around the exhibits; mannequins styling the original white shirts, dark trousers, aprons and paper hats; that James discovered the McDonalds folklore. It was detailed and well researched. It fed James’ interest and kept raising new questions in his mind. Here was one whole strand of social history. It was micro-history that grew macro. The world was McDonalds, was Coca-Cola, was Microsoft and Disney. It was here and it was global. Best of all it was tangible, you could see it. Every McDonalds was an embassy for the future of mankind. And you could eat there.

It wasn’t just Big Business with a capital “B”, 85% of the restaurants are franchised, most of them to locals. This was a social phenomenon. This was big. James found himself after a while, traveling all over. He started in the States then moved further afield. He went to Beijing to see the largest restaurant, then the smallest, then the newest. He went to openings all over. A new McDonalds opens every seven hours. In ’94 in Kuwait City 15,000 people queued for a burger. The line of cars for the drive thru was 7 miles long. Spectacular. James was spellbound by it. Each time he asked for fries he knew that, wherever in the world he was, they had all been placed in oil heated to precisely 168 degrees Celsius and left there for exactly 2.55 minutes. James knew that his experience was mirrored in 40 million other souls all around the world, each and every day. He developed a real love for the golden arch, the red and yellow, the silver stars on the uniforms of its employees. One in fifteen Americans knew those stars, had, at some time or other, worked for McDonalds. A million, worldwide still did. This was huge.
****
The last time Saffie had been to Katmandu was with Naz. That’s how it would have been this time, except for that fight. Most people argue about money or jealousy, sex even. Saffie liked to think they had reached a more evolved state in which those baser elements of life had found a plane on which both Naz and herself were content to let them rest. No, what they argued about was philosophy, meta-philosophy. Neither of them was content to label themselves but they were pretty sure that whatever label outsiders would place on one, they would place on the other. And then came Croydon.

Saffie’s friend Sue had introduced her to Dave, an ex-general builder and decorator. He, according to Sue was enlightened. No idle claim this, apparently it had been confirmed by some yogi guy in an ashram in southern India. Saffie had taken Naz to see him. They had just gotten over the thirty-minute wait to see him when Dave opened his mouth and out came a South-London-general-builder-and-decorator patois. Naz just pissed himself laughing. Saffie had turned to him in dismay, only for Naz to add to it all by shouting “loadsa-answers, loadsa-answers”. She couldn’t forgive him for that, no way.

Saffie had no idea whether things would have cooled off by the time she returned, right now she didn’t care. She had more important things to worry about. It was time to get angry. She’d bought it all with her, a three-inch thick stack of pamphlets and cuttings, a whole transcript of the key witness statements from the McLibel case, the lot. She sifted through it all, picking out bits at random.

Everyone knew that McDonalds was bad. From deforestation, to make way for more grazing land, to it’s anti-union exploitative labour practices; from targeting the young to it’s never-ending profit-seeking. It was a multi-national. Which was, after all, just another word for evil. Even if the libel case found most of these charges to be poorly founded it was just the system acting to protect one of its own. Yes everyone knew McDonalds was bad. The simple truth was that places were just nicer without one. And now, tomorrow, the newest restaurant was to open, in Katmandu, Nepal for Christ’s sake! Too far this time, too bloody far. Saffie, and maybe thousands of others, were not going to let that happen.
****
James left his hotel and headed for Durbar Square. He had been told that today was a festival day, but not a large one. In fact there were over four hundred festivals in Nepal. If they closed up shop for each one, then nothing would get done. He made his way, passed a group of kids playing soccer in the street, to a nearby café. It was pretty crowded. He took off his glasses and placed them in the pocket of his faded green shirt.
****
Saffie loved Katmandu and she was here again. Without Naz she actually felt free. As she walked, she expressed to herself the hope that she’d run into some like-minded people, people she could talk to. She would lose herself in some conversation, nothing too heavy, just something in the right direction. She entered the café, pausing at the tables outside, before choosing to escape the afternoon sun just inside the door. There were no tables free, but there was a couple of free chairs around one table.
****
James looked up and had one of those moments. One minute he was just taking in the movements of the square, the next he witnessed the bright sun projecting a halo around a face, which spoke. He was so overwhelmed with the vision that he couldn’t make out the words. It was a beauty that he had seldom seen, wisps of golden hair blended in with the bright sun, as if the figure before him was emerging from it, rather than from the street.

“Pardon?”
“OK if I sit here?” she smiled.
“Err, sure, sure, help yourself.”
James didn’t want to say anything, lest he mess this up. He knew this was something special, really special.
****
Saffie pulled the wicker chair from under the table and took off her knitted woolen shoulder bag. She took out a wedge of papers and sat down. The guy before her was watching, not in any way which displeased her, just watching as if he didn’t know what else to do.

“What are you thinking?” Saffie asked.
James did not even contemplate lying. “You’re beautiful, an angel, a fiery angel.”
Saffie was not taken aback, not shocked, offended, or displeased. She was in Katmandu and this was the sort of thing that was supposed to happen. She smiled the smile of the angel that he thought she was. James was filled by it, given energy by it. He felt loved.

The two of them sat back. Somehow there was little distance between them, as if their initial exchange had cleared whatever barriers social niceties would have demanded. This was not England. This was Nepal; somehow things were just easier away from normal life. Saffie quickly learnt that James had never been here before and had, in fact, probably been on the same flight in. Consequently Saffie felt it her duty to a fellow traveler to pass on some tips and information.

“Yeah, this place is amazing, I mean, really incredible. Out there in the corner of the square is a palace, not that you’d recognise it as one. In it is a living goddess called the Kurmina. She is chosen as a baby and lives there as the living embodiment of the Hindi goddess Durga. Every day she looks out for a few minutes so that people can see that they are watched over by the gods.”

James is pleased. Saffie appears to like him; at least she is talking to him.

“Really” he says, “and she never leaves?”

“No, well occasionally she is paraded outside, on feast days I think, but generally she just lives up there.”

“Fuck” says James, “sounds bad, lonely I mean.”

Saffie likes this; this is her kind of thing. “Maybe” she says, “who are we to judge another culture? Cultural relativism it’s called. Can’t judge, just try to understand. Anyway, she isn’t there for life, just until she bleeds for the first time, then they choose a new girl. I think she just goes back home, although I did hear that men pretty well steer clear of her after that, I mean, you don’t want to fuck with a goddess do you?”
He smiled a secret smile that Saffie caught sight of. Saffie heard the word ‘fuck’ repeat itself in her head and saw that smile. “Oops”, she thought.
****
The travel alarm awoke James at five-thirty. He’d been asleep less than two hours. It was all he could do to keep in mind the business of the day. His brain kept replaying over and over the image of Saffie, arms stretched out above her head, eyes closed, and him a few inches away. Last night, he decided, was the best night of his life.

Saffie had been mildly disappointed that James had left when he did, but not with the night itself. Incredibly she felt no guilt. Naz could screw himself, she thought. In James she had found a gentle soul. He gave her time and space. He never pressured her, nor chided her, just cared. She could picture his face now, his large blue eyes hovering above her, taking her in, just as she had taken him. She shivered involuntarily. This feels right, she thought, really right. He was even here for the same reason as her. At some point in the evening he had said that he needed to get up for the opening. She smiled to herself. She hadn’t mentioned that she too would be there. She would surprise him. As she unfurled her ‘McDonalds Murders’ banner, she thought of the two of them together, last night, today, maybe even tomorrow.

Durba Square, 8AM. The white cloth that, for the past few days, has covered the latest encroachment of western civilisation, is removed. Some dignitary or other gives a clipped speech. A ribbon is cut. The two hundred people in the queue at the double doors surge forward. James, first there, loses a few places. He is happy. He has already taken a roll of film, more material than usual. He is perhaps happier than he has ever been. He knows he will see Saffie again. He wonders if, perhaps, they will travel the world together in future. This morning, he has even heard a rumour from a McDonalds employee that a new restaurant is due to open in Bhutan sometime soon. He thinks he could mention this to Saffie, perhaps she hasn’t been there yet.
****
Saffie is stoic in the face of the poor turnout on the demo. She and four others stand powerless in the face of the duped locals. Hundreds of beautiful brown faces display a new, learnt, kind of greed. She looks around and sees that Katmandu has changed in that moment. She knows she can never come here again.

However, the trip has not been wasted. There was James after all, although he was missing right now. He had said he would be here, but . ..

And there was James. For a moment Saffie was elated; at seeing him, at the fact that he was right in there. How stupid I’ve been, she thought. That’s the way to do it, no pissing around on a picket line. Direct action, get in there and . . . Get in there and what? She watches, hardly blinks, she hopes that whatever James is up to isn’t going to land him in jail or get himself hurt. She rushes to the window and peers in. There he is at the counter. He’s smiling. This must be it.

James turns around, large fries and a coke in hand. He sees Saffie pressed against the window. He begins to wave. Then he sees that she is crying, sobbing. He can’t quite fathom it. Then he catches the half-hidden words on the banner, now dropped to the ground. He understands now. He understands so completely that he can’t move. He is fixed, rooted. Fixed, rooted and utterly alone.

Saffie lays in the dust. McDonalds destroys, it has even destroyed last night. She can’t move, doesn’t want to move. It is bigger than she ever imagined. McDonalds destroys tomorrow.
****
The golden arch gleams in the sun, almost blinding the eyes of a young girl sitting in a small room almost directly opposite. Not just any young girl, for she is the living goddess. She thinks, she cannot but think. She thinks that the golden ‘M’ must hold some significance. A knock at her door momentarily necessitates her turning away. She is handed something in a paper wrapper. She resumes her vigil. She watches as a woman slumps down in the dust, her head propped against the sparkling new glass.

Tentatively the Kurmina unfolds the wrapper and brings the exotic smelling parcel to her mouth. She bites hard. According to her aid, it is called a McChicken sandwich. Her mouth fills with saliva, her taste buds furiously working on the hitherto unknown. She wonders if the woman by the window has been similarly overcome.