McFlurry

This morning on the phone, when I was quite excited because I was an hour earlier than usual (not saying much) and had managed to watch all of last night's Grey's Anatomy while getting ready and eating breakfast, my mom laughed at me when I told her my dream about us being on a cruise and ending up floating near penguins in Chile. She thought I was crazy.

But that wasn't what I was coming on here to write about in the precious time before I head off to dreamland. (I'm trying to implement my resolutions now... I figure, calendar New Year, Chinese New Year, it's just another chance to do what I didn't do last time!) I was coming to write about my lunch experience at McDonalds.

It's not McDonalds itself, really. It was someone who was there.

I was sitting on a pretty crowded floor, and I tend to people-watch over lunch. Not stare, but just observe, sometimes out of the corner of my eye. Today, it was hard for me to figure out how not to stare because the person who was catching everyone's eye was directly in front of me, 3 seats, with not a person or thing blocking my view.

There was a disheveled man sitting at a table by himself. He sounded like he was mumbling to himself, maybe talking to himself. Then I noticed he wasn't even eating any McDonalds food; he was just sitting there drinking a can of Foster's.

In McDonalds?!

I didn't think they sold that there! (I still don't think they do. I mean it's not like they're sharing that aspect of the Corona-selling Chipotles.)

I wasn't sure what was wrong with him, and then, he got up and started stumbling around. In my mind, I kept alternating between whether he was going to fall flat on his face next or throw up on everyone around. After awhile, he just stood in the middle of the floor staring at the wall, and you could see the anxiety all over the faces of the people sitting right where he chose to stop. They couldn't go anywhere, unlike 2 girls at a table next to me, who without any subtlety, picked up their food and moved as far away as possible.

Then he went back to the table.

Then he got up.

Then he stood at the top of the stairway.

(Yes, I know, someone could have gotten someone who worked there to do something. But one of the people working on the floor was standing there watching him! And then tried to talk to him, but then just kept watching. I mean, honestly, I'm not sure what they could do.)

I was nervous that he would fall down the stairs, but then he just kept wobbling around on the landing. I was scared to go past in case he fell on me, and I still thought he looked like he was going to puke. That would be a nightmare to get out of dry cleaning. What a mess.

Luckily, there was a side stairwell that exited on to the street, so I left. I wasn't sure I wanted to see what would happen next, as the man was still lingering near the stairs.

I just keep wondering about it. Who was this guy? Why did they let him stay there when he wasn't even a customer? I couldn't tell if the guy was mentally ill, or sick, or homeless, or drunk. All I knew was that I felt bad. But with no time and not much clue about what one can actually do about something like that, I left. My guess would be that nothing happened, but it was unnerving nonetheless.

So this is what I get when I don't just go to Europa for lunch.

Stories.

Good night!