As you exercised your American freedoms yesterday at the ballot box, Guy 1 strenuously exercised with little freedom. He's surviving boot camp.
Here's a post he wrote last year.
Returning a large french fries to the manager behind the McDonald's counter, I politely explained "I'm so sorry, but these french fries were really, really salty."
"How salty were they?" she responded. (I like to think she was trying to gauge the damage her product might have wreaked on my poor hungry tummy.)
"Furry with salt" I carefully responded, so she would know just how salty they were.
"I'll bring you out new fries in a sec'."
Approximately ten minutes later, she walked over to my table.
"Here are your fries, sir. I made them, then stirred them with only the salt that was left over from our last batch, so I hope they're not too furry this time."
She placed the overflowing triangular box on my tray, then stepped back and waited expectantly.
Then, my greatest performance.
I took a fry, placed it delicately in my mouth, bit, chew, and swallowed. Careful to keep my expression pleasantly suprised, I said happily "tastes great! Thanks again!"
She smiled and walked back behind the food service door to continue making fries.
After she had left, I did the only thing I could.
I added more salt.
© JPE 2007