McHorror

I was on my break, sitting in the corner table the way I always do at 11:45. In front of me was another lunch from Taco Bell. The boss says I’m not supposed to buy from other fast food restaurants because I work right here in McDonalds. I would buy from here, but I just can’t forget what happened. Just then Tubby waddled in with her fatty kids behind her. Tubby comes to McDonalds at least twice a day, it’s kind of sickening. Her two beach ball kids just follow her and never say anything, they just glare. My watch beeped, my break was over. I hurriedly took a bite of my soft taco and threw the rest away. It was another bland lunch, but at least it wasn’t McDonalds. I sighed and went back to window one to take more flabby people’s orders. I hated this job. You don’t get paid well, the customers are all sick, the place smells like beef juice, and of course, what happened.

It happened a long time ago, before they passed that law where you have to put labels on food you sell. McDonalds had this huge vat in the back of the store where they ground up the meat for patties. It was said that once a worker was operating the machine and got to close, he was ground up. But it was never proven. It is after all, just a rumor.

“Hey you!” It was my boss. If I said other people were fat you have not met my boss. His name is Heffernan, Mr. Heffernan and he is the biggest person I have ever known. I’m pretty sure that all he eats is McDonalds and if you showed him a salad he’d show you a cow. “You don’t get paid to daydream! You get paid to work! Now get too it!” he walked away and I prayed that one day he would be too big to fit through the door and he’d have to sell this place, or I could be content if he just exploded, whichever came first.

Beep!

I looked at the monitor a van was pulling up. I put on the best fake smile I could and waited for the customer. For the big van there was only one person inside. It was a man that looked pretty bored. He had a short beard and was wearing a plaid long sleeved shirt.

“Hello sir, may I take your order?” My voice changed from my usual one to how I talk to the customers. To me I sound like a daycare teacher talking to a child who doesn’t understand the concept of “eat”.

“No, but do you know that rumor? About the meat grinder?” His voice sounded very old and I took a second look at him. He wasn’t another fatzo like most people.

“Yes, I know the rumor, but I’m not supposed to talk about it to the customers.” A car was pulling up behind the man and I wished that he would hurry up and leave.

“Good, tell everyone about it. It’s true.” Well this man was obviously on something so I said,

“Thank you, if you’ll just move on ahead and tell the next window that you didn’t order anything please.” I put on another fake smile and hoped he would leave. He did.

I started to think about the rumor again. It had been going around for at least six years. But if it was so fake, why didn’t it die out? I decided to go back and look at the big vat. I didn’t know why though. I asked a worker named Cathy to cover for me for a few minutes and went to the back room. The vat was so big I could barely see over the top of it. Slowly swirling meat was inside but you could hear big chunks getting ground up at the bottom. The sight was very sickening. I grabbed the edge for support because I felt like hurling. Then I felt a small push on my back and saw the speed of the grinding had been turned all the way up. As I was sinking down I saw the fat porky face of my boss staring angrily at me.

The End