Cockatoo Boy

I went to McDonalds the other day. Although I shouldn’t. I have a complicated love hate relationship with the meat clown and this time he just pulled me in. I had my mind set on a triple cheeseburger meal. Just hit me with cheese and meat, clown boy, give me your best shot.

At the counter I’m greeted by a friendly staffer and get ready to order.

“A large triple cheeseburger meal. Take-a…”

“Naaaaaaa!”

The guy behind the counter cuts me off with some sort of high-pitched sound. He sounds a bit like an angry cockatoo.

“I beg your pardon”, I say, more than just a little surprised.

“What?”, the guy behind the counter says, ignoring what just happened.

“Eh, ok, a large triple cheeseburger meal. Could you make it take-a…”

“Kaaaaa!”

This time I’m quiet. The guy looks at me. I look at him. It’s a burger standoff of sorts. At the stainless steel border.

“A large triple cheeseburger meal. Anything else?” Cockatoo Boy continues, without raising an eyebrow.

“Eh, no, take-aw…”

“Naaaa!”

He walks over to the fries to get my stuff. On his way he mutters more bird sounds to himself.

“Kraaa! Naaa!”

He simply seems to have some sort of bird variety of Tourettes. I look around. The other customers haven’t noticed a thing. Mr Big Bird on crack comes back and puts my food on the tray. I’m now facing a dilemma. I don’t want to eat my meal in-house. The restaurant is packed with people eating their food like there’s no tomorrow. I need to be alone in my fast food shame, not share it with the general public. This day they also seem to have staff taken from the drug version of the The Jungle Book. I’m definitely not eating in. No way, Jose. I decide to try a last time. Maybe I can surprise him. If I’m really quick, maybe he won’t get a chance to cut me off with another cockatoo sound.

Maybe.

“TAKE-AWAY!!”, I yell loud, fast and very punchy with a high-pitched voice. I’m almost spitting the words out so he won’t be able to stop me.

Feeling pretty good about myself, I look around. The whole restaurant has gone quiet. They’re all looking at me. The screaming moron at register four. The guy with the smug smile.

“Ooook, sure”, the guy says. His eyes are wide open. There’s a crazy guy standing opposite him, SCREAMING. He looks very surprised. And a little scared.

I quickly grab my bag and drink and hurry towards the exit. I can feel people looking at me. Their hateful glances almost burning a hole in my back.

“It’s his fault! The Cockatoo Boy made me do it”, I want to turn around and scream, but I realize nothing good would come from that. My lunatic score is already off the charts. I’m better off running. Away. Awaaaaaay.

But you know.

And I know.

It was Cockatoo Boy’s fault.