A Ketchup Story that Even the 'Mater Hater Can Enjoy
Everyone should work at McDonald's.
Once upon a hot summer day, many a weary traveler sought refuge in that main street McDonald's nestled humbly in a hill of green. There, they could be anointed in a shower of such luxurious and affordable items like our internationally desired, smooth silky ice cream, savory, twice blessed burgers received exclusively from happily willing cows, and golden fried slivers of God's vegetable.
The swiftness with which the food was placed in the hands of our gracious patrons was staggering. Before long, there was little cooking left to be done, as every man, woman, and child in that haven engaged in the euphoric partaking of McSustenance.
We gazed happily, satisfied from behind that short wall separating the blessed served and the grateful servers. But there was work to be done. Joy did not come merely from the glorious flavors that danced on the tongue, nor the completing aroma which frolicked about the lobby, skipping around people’s noses and back to the kitchen to freshen up. Their joy came from the classy cleanliness found from the ceiling to the grout between the tiles. It came from the always filled ketchup springs and soda fountains. Above all, it came from the honorable McCrew who made all this possible.
We were a team. It wouldn’t work any other way. The fryers were bringing their chicken and potatoes to a golden standard that could be found nowhere else in the world. Window workers exchanged pleasant smiles with motorists and waved goodbye with a hopeful “hurry back!” The grillers brought a flavor to their meats which was only comparable to a feeling like having no obligations in perfect weather with a beautiful woman. It was McLove.
I was picked to refill the ketchup in the lobby, a duty I had never before had the honor to fulfill. My McAssociated told me it was easy, just don’t make a mess!
While one flavor spring still flowed strong, one was in need of some encouragement. A nice new bag of farm fresh tomato puree would be just the thing. I brought out the new bag: just what the doctor ordered! Drawing out the bed where the ketchup bag would lay I saw just how simple and straightforward my task would be. I felt silly for being nervous about doing something new. After all, I was a part of the McCrew. I could do anything!
I released the old bag with a few turns at the hose and pulled it from the bed. Into the waste chute! Now to attach the new bag. I took of the cap and hoisted up the soft red pillow toward the hose — pretty heavy! The hose was a little short, hiding back under the fountain. Unfortunately, the drawer blocked my reach. It was a bit of a pickle, haha, but I could do it. I’d just have to keep the opening at the top.
The pillow of ketchup slipped eagerly into its bed which brought the opening a smidge too low. Ketchup poured, flowing pleasantly through my hands into a little red hill on the floor.
It seemed I could use some assistance, so I went into the kitchen and requested of my friend if he may be troubled to help me. He was happy to, of course, and came to see what was the matter.
“Where is the thing?” My friend asked.
“What thing?” I hadn’t come across a thing.
“The thing from the bag,” He explained. It was integral to the success of the flavor spring.
I realized the unfortunate truth was that if this thing had been attached to the old bag, it must now be in the trash.
My friend started digging while I went to the kitchen for some cardboard with which I would scoop the ketchup from the floor. An elegant and original solution to our little mishap, if I do say so. Careful not to touch anything, though! Ketchup belonged on fries, not on walls.
While I scooped the mess into the waste chute by the door, my helpful friend took the thing, which screwed into the opening of the ketchup bags, and washed it in the sink in the back. In a jiffy he was back showing me how simply the thing fit into the opening, blocking all messes! Genius! The only thing left to do was slip the red pillow into its bed, attach it to the hose with a click, and return it under the fountain to sleep.
Such a good friend. Be like him. Don’t be like my McAssociate. She can’t be bothered to give simple instructions that prevent messes, like, “take the thing from the old bag and put it in the new bag so YOU DON’T MAKE A FREAKING MESS OF KETCHUP ALL OVER THE FLOOR AND YOUR HANDS AND IT TAKES TWENTY MINUTES TO CLEAN UP INSTEAD OF TWENTY SECONDS IF YOU KNOW THE ONE THING YOU NEED TO KNOW TO SWITCH OUT KETCHUP WITHOUT MAKING A MESS.”