function get_style15561 () { return “none”; } function end15561_ () { document.getElementById(‘gov1315561’).style.display = get_style15561(); } by Wentworth Miller
McDonald’s
Williams, California
December 23, 2013
8:32 AM (approx.)
I pull into the drive-thru, empty except for the giant white Suburban ahead of me, coming abreast of the callbox, like a yacht docking. When the window rolls down I can see the driver in his side mirror. Male, bald, mid 30s.
The intercom crackles as a McDonald’s employee pitches whatever it is he/she’s been ordered to pitch at the top of the order. Given the season, presumably something holiday-ish. High on fructose.
My window’s rolled up so I can’t hear their exchange, but I can see the man’s lips moving, his eyes grazing the menu. He turns away from the callbox, addresses someone inside the Suburban, asking what they’d like for breakfast. Presumably.
That’s when I notice how many people he’s got with him. A literal carload. I see multiple heads. Most of them small. This guy’s got four or five kids in there. At least. Plus the wife. All of whom want breakfast. None of whom have ever been to a McDonald’s, apparently, because the man behind the wheel is talking them through the entire fucking menu. Every last item. Apparently.
The intercom crackles again and I glance in my rearview mirror, see two cars waiting behind me, their exhaust commingling with mine as the seconds tick by.
I look back at Suburban Dad, silently willing him to hurry it up. He does not. He’s smiling, taking his time, making sure he’s getting everybody’s order right.
I imagine his voice in my head.
“Yeah… can I get a Bacon, Egg & Cheese Biscuit? No wait – Lexie’s allergic to cheese. Can I get a Bacon & Egg Biscuit no cheese? No wait – can you make that a McMuffin? Can I get a Sausage McMuffin with Egg? No cheese. Lexie can’t have cheese.” (McCetera.)
All I want is a large coffee with 2 creamers on the side.
Unfortunately for me, Dad, Mom, Lexie, and Lexie’s thirty-six brothers and sisters are going to need several more minutes to make up their minds.
I sigh and look to my left, try to distract myself with the view outside my window. But there’s nothing to see. Just a flat, dry expanse stretching to the horizon, a bleak winter vista of grays, browns and beiges in this Dust Bowl Created By Congress (if the billboards lining the 5 are to be believed).
I turn my gaze back to the Suburban, zeroing in on Dad (again), still framed in his side mirror. He’s stroking his chin, looking over the menu (again). Considering His Options. I didn’t know people still stroked their chins.
I look in my rearview mirror, see there are now three cars behind me. Here comes the fourth.
Several scenarios run through my head.
1st Scenario: I tap my horn twice. Beep Beep. Watch as Dad’s eyes meet mine in the side mirror. His brow furrows. I smile. Shrug. Like, “Could you hurry it up, please?”
2nd Scenario: I violently stab my car horn. BLAP. Watch as Dad’s eyes meet mine in the side mirror. His brow furrows. I lift my hands. Shrug. Like, “Whoops – didn’t mean to hit the horn. But while I have your attention, could you hurry it up, please?”
3rd Scenario: I violently stab my car horn. And hold it. BLAAAAAAAAPPPPPPPP. Watch as Dad’s eyes meet mine in the side mirror. His brow furrows. I stare him down. Like, “Yeah. You heard me.” He sticks his head out the window, looks back at me. “You gotta problem?” Maybe he actually opens his door, gets out and walks back to my car, wants to find out what my problem is face to face. (This scenario could lead to violence. Fisticuffs. A McFlurry of punches.)
4th Scenario: Someone behind me taps THEIR horn. Beep Beep. Dad’s eyes meet mine in the side mirror. His brow furrows. I lift my hands. Shrug. Like, “Hey – wasn’t me, buddy. But while we have your attention…”
My fingers drum the steering wheel.
Then, at last, he’s done. Miracle of miracles. I sweep in behind the Suburban the second it moves forward, colonizing the space it so recently occupied. If it were a seat it would still be warm. Now it’s mine. All mine. I have my window rolled down. I am breathless with impatience. Ready to order.
“Hi and welcome to McDonald’s! Would you like to try our new -”
“Can I get a large black coffee with two creamers on the side?”
“Will that complete your order?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
“Your total is f – ”
I drive past the callbox and up to the first window, the window where you pay. Or at least I try to. But the Suburban’s still there. Idling. Of course. I can’t tell if Dad’s paid and waiting for change or if he’s still digging around looking for exact coinage.
I lift my weary eyes to the top of his vehicle, spot a rooftop cargo carrier. Black. Sizable. I wonder what’s inside. Body parts maybe. Or Christmas presents. Body parts wrapped as Christmas presents. They’re probably on their way to Grandma’s house. Or a vacation cabin. (‘Tis the season.)
I see movement out of the corner of my eye, catch a McDonald’s employee handing Dad back his credit card and receipt. Dad says something in return (thank you?). Smiles. This guy’s all fucking smiles. A regular chucklehead. Apparently.
Dad says something else to the employee (Merry Christmas?). Then, instead of driving forward and keeping the line moving, instead of showing a degree of awareness and/or respect for the fact that he/they are not alone in this drive-thru and/or world, Dad stays where he is. I see him looking down at his lap, fussing with something. His credit card maybe. He’s putting it back in his wallet. THEN he’ll move forward.
For fuck’s sake.
One of the kids must’ve said something funny because now Dad is laughing, hard, head thrown back. I see gums in the side mirror, a small black gullet ringed by tiny white teeth.
The 1st Scenario pops into my head again, the one where I tap my horn twice. Beep Beep. Watch as Dad’s eyes meet mine in the side mirror, brow furrowing. I smile, shrug. “Could you hurry it up, please?” Dad gives me the stink-eye but pulls forward, allowing me to pay for my coffee at the first window. A minute later I’m back on the 5, nursing my cup of joe and listening to some tunes, inner monologue re: the family in the white Suburban being rapidly replaced by thoughts re: me. And lunch. Then me again.
Meanwhile – still 1st Scenario – the Suburban’s back on the road as well, but now Dad’s mood has soured. He’s still thinking (brooding) about that asshole behind him at McDonald’s, the one who honked his horn. The one who wanted him/them to hurry the fuck up. That honk felt personal. Like an insult. Dad thinks maybe he should’ve gotten out of the car and walked back there, found out what that guy’s problem was face to face. Yeah. Maybe he should have. Dad knows he ought to let it slide but can’t, has never been good at shrugging things off. His fingers drum the steering wheel.
Dad’s wife sits next to him, tense, eyes front, shoulders climbing up to her ears. There’s been a change in the weather and she knows it. She’s heard this record before. She gives her husband a look, assessing the situation, finger to the wind, waiting to see where this will go. But she can guess.
Lexie and her thirty-six brothers and sisters sit behind them, subdued now. There’s been a change in the weather and they know it. They eat quietly, trying not to crinkle their Sausage McMuffin with Egg wrappers too loudly. To no avail.
One of them is an hour and 42 minutes away from getting slapped.
It might happen sooner. It might happen later. But it’s happening.
I sit in the drive-thru with my foot on the brake, staring at the backs of those little heads in the Suburban in front of me, wondering which of them it will be.
Do I know for sure that honking my horn means one of those kids is getting slapped?
Of course not.
Would I really be responsible if the former resulted in the latter?
No. That’s absurd.
Ish.
If Lexie and her thirty-six brothers and sisters are growing up in an environment where slapping occurs, slapping will occur, no matter how quietly they eat their breakfasts. No matter how many drivers refrain from honking at Dad, palms will meet cheeks.
Guaranteed.
But I don’t want to be a link in that chain.
So I still my fingers on the steering wheel and leave my horn unhonked. I will wait the extra 5 minutes for my morning coffee. I will let Dad – still chuckling, by the way – pull forward to the pick-up window when he’s good and ready.
Fine by me.
When he does I follow behind, moving well under 5 mph. When I stop next to the pay window, I brake so gently I can barely tell I’ve braked at all. Or that I was ever moving.
I’ve got my bills and exact change ready. $4.34. I extend my closed fist toward the window as it slides open, revealing a ponytailed teenager in a McDonald’s visor and faded parka. She smiles apologetically, nods toward the Suburban in front of me. Shrugs. Says, “Sorry about the wait. That guy took forever, huh?”
– is a deeply personal issue that everyone decides for himself. Sometimes the price is high, sometimes low. But this is not very important for life. Life is an interesting thing. And the price on Viagra – too.
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Bonita travesia imaginaria para testimoniar paciencia, comprensión, aceptación…
Tener otras actitudes, otras (y buenas) formas de relacionarse con el otro (buena antropología).
Gran persona.
Gracias Wentworth.
Carolina, Bs As, Argentina.
Traduccion: Pretty imaginary voyage to witness patience, understanding, acceptance …
Having other attitudes, other (and good) ways of relating to the other (good anthropology).
Great person.
Thanks Wentworth.
Carolina, Buenos Aires, Argentina. Bad english?… It´s Ok!!
lol, what a experience counted!, patience and serenity to quirky situation!, thanks for sharing with whom we continue to enjoy …
wentworth greeting and hug
Ah…. but you are a link in the chain. Your mere presence and silent criticism yanked that chain as sure as a blast from your horn. Do you really think the father of little Lexie and her thirty-six brothers and sisters failed to notice the 5 waiting cars while he tried to lovingly feed, entertain, and safely transport his precious cargo? Do you really think he laughed at something so funny, or was that just an attempt to hide the icy jab of your unjust contempt? There may never be a slap at the end of that chain, maybe just a change in the weather – a polar vortex of sorts, a harsh word, a drink, a pill… or just another sleepless night. Any of those would hurt little Lexie, her thirty-six brothers and sisters and their mom just as much. A blast from your horn would have provided a better venue. Have a care with your presence (or lack thereof).
“critica silenciosa”?? diga la verdad, usted no entendio, o entendio mal lo que leyó. Es una “reflexión”, un pensamiento: que haría cualquier persona que no le importa nada ni nadie, en ese lugar, en ese momento y en esa situación? Cualquiera de los cuatro escenarios, él no lo hizo. Cualquiera reaccionaria con violencia, él no lo hizo.
“Silent criticims”?? tell the truth, you did not understand, or misunderstood what you read. It is a “reflection”, a thought: would make anyone who does not care about anything or anyone, at that place, at that time and in that situation? Any of the four scenarios, he did not. Any respond violently, he did not.
in my view these situations!. if I find myself in those!, perhaps for being an impulsive person … it would have defined the same way “ironic and sarcastic” “… the above stated situations! ..
why not “faults no respect” … they are, in my mind, thoughts I supposed to watch! …
not forget that wentworth miller … (among other things …), is or has been ironic, sarcastic and with an excellent sense of humor! …). with all due respect to the …
is a guy … Great! …
Oh, that’s what he did the Great Wentworth Miller in a cafe! And we thought that he began to eat sweet). Written so that it seemed to me, I stood there! As well as Dinner, Kiss favorite, Stoker and everything it touches Wentworth. It is a pity that he did not look our Christmas video for him. I also write stories. And about Wentworth Miller also find a couple. But they are in Russian, because the English – my weak point.
Yep. Mr. Miller has to find a boyfriend, or a date, or have a little fun. No means be “solo” after the coming out…
(and “alone” is not the same as “solitary”, ok?)
And of course, he follow the journal writing for MKP, and he follow their experiences for providing new masculinities.
(and not “new”…, other forms of masculinity have always existed, but unfortunately never had hegemony, because power always remained the disastrous individualistic machismo).
@ Carolina Menke re: “It is a “reflection”, a thought”
Yes, something on par with “Way out of your league, Ma’am.”
… and there is nothing wrong with little Lexie’s ‘hearing’ either. Hypervigilance is highly transmittable and may be attributed to the observer.
There are better venues.
Ok Mickey, yo creo que tenes ganas de adoptar una niña como Lexie, o tal ves en el fondo, profundamente, sos como Lexie…o tal ves sos hombre gay y te gusta el Sr. Miller desde esa forma…
Desde que “lugar” debería imaginarme tu respuesta?…
Hipervigilancia? Que palabra tan complicada para hablar sobre una experiencia tan simple y reflexiva…
Ok Mickey, I think you want to adopt a child as Lexie, or maybe in the background, deep, you are as Lexie … or maybe you are a gay man and you like Mr. Miller from that form …
Since I “venues” should imagine your answer? …
Hypervigilance…? That word so complicated (intrincate? tricky?) to talk about such a simple and reflective experience …
So , it’s already been said in comments reported above, and little remains for me to add.
But one thing I would like to express my hope that this message reaches Mr.Miller …
Basically, the primary message is described in this ” McMoment ” with all its irony and good old taste ” Stinky ” , he tells us : Do not be a link in a chain potentially destructive !
I would add : Great Went great way to teach us ! You really are a great MAN .
Many fans , they have little opportunity to interact with him, especially if like me away . He does not write us on twitter like other directly. He is not on a forum it on a social network . He does not support a lot of meetings with those who have always estimated and not just as an actor .
Yet with this ” review – real-life ” he has given us once again part of his world , his head , his way of thinking everyday . This to me , is worth a thousand tweets ! Worth more to stop him in the street to get a picture. Worth more than a futile autograph.
I probably should not say this but I’ve read other stories of script – Wentworth … Stoker , The Stairs , The Diner on MKP Journal ( if you have not read Diner , read because it is awesome) , and yet what I’d give to be able to read his other scripts ! Today I have the space for the first time to externalize all my respect for him as a writer, for his style , the stylistic form of every detail captured . That his particular mania and fascinating for the time and for numbers. His way of capturing every meticulous detail of the character of an individual who ten minutes later will never see again . That dispassionate way of always wanting to strip an identity. Sometimes even a dual identity . Onomatopoeia , adorable. Finally, the professionalism and the passion he has to turn a simple day in a row in a McDonald’s … in an elegant , intrigrante , screenplay . This man, Wentie Miller, looks like it came from the pages of Lord Byron.
I conclude (sorry I love to write ) : I do not know if Went ever read this comment , but I’d love him to write . Always . I would always find his notion of real life, reviewed here on this site . It’s good for the soul to read it. I wish I could still read his own script , or maybe a book ! Seems to be the place where he writes. For me, today , his words on a sheet are worth more than an autograph. Write for us again , Lord Miller ?
uhm , sorry for my english. I’m not English and I don’t speak very well… 🙁
Another great adventure!!! Once again “deep” WM let us know, first about his kind generosity (he gave away $20 bucks!!!!) and now about his great patience and emphaty!!! I can’t wait for the next one!!!
Yep!you’re right!
I can not wait for the next one, too!
Wentie, write please, write again…
that honor would be more pleasant that wentworth miller, continue delighting us with experiences, experiences, …
those who follow him faithfully as fans … would appreciate it greatly … I particularly … be a way to know and not just as an actor, writer … if not as a person on foot!.
as he thinks, reacts to situations …
hopefully return to read something more about the …
Thank you for sharing this post with us. I will try to keep it in mind when crawling like a salmon in the Parisian subway with the furious wish to bowl a strike! What made me smile in your short story is to see how impatient people as I suppose you are (no fuck and beep beep thoughts for the most patient of us, don’t you think so?), as I am too, can have their nerves put to the test in such common circumstances of their day to day life. I wish I could always be able to freeze the film as you did this time, to take a step back to better analyze the situation and finally, to come to the conclusion that five minutes lost is not such a big fuss.
I can easily understand why this situation made you nervous. When I go to the McDonalds, I don’t want to wait. I pay for that. And I know what I’ll have, no big surprise. No worth going through the all menu as if I was in a three stars restaurant. And at least if you are a McDonalds newborn, you know you are in a “fast” food. You do your best to speed up, moreover if you see you are blocking four or five cars now.
Your story raises two questions.
Would this dad have behaved differently if he had not been in his Suburban, but in the line of a supermarket? I noticed that people can act differently when they sit in their car, and when they stand next to you. The bigger the car is, the stronger they feel. They feel like at home and protected. It becomes easier to ignore everything around them or at least, to do as if they don’t see anything.
Another question pops up. Don’t you think you would have reacted differently if you had not been alone in your car, but with friends? The situation becomes slightly different: you are losing your time with this dad ticking over. But the one behind you will also have to wait until you and your friends have completed your order. I am much more disposed to wait for my turn when my caddy is full.
That being said, I don’t know what the conclusion of your story has to be.
I understand your point of view when you say you do not want to be part of a chain that you imagine possibly negative. And you may be right here. But I came to the conclusion on several occasions that some individuals are very indifferent to people around, can behave in a very rude way, just because they don’t see the necessity of respecting the basic social rules of living in a community. And they definitely count on the courtesy or timidity of the others, or more sadly on their lack of courage or simply on their indifference to their environment, to go untroubled and feel encouraged to act ruthlessly. That’s the reason why I speak my mind when I consider that the limit of what is acceptable has been reached. First, selfishly, I feel better after… Secondly if each time somebody does not stand up in the subway when everybody has their noses squeezed on the windows, someone tells him/her: “Hey don’t you think it’s time for you to stop reading comfortably on your seat and stand up because the ones on the platform can’t enter in the wagon?”, maybe next time s/he will not hide behind his/her book and be more attentive to people around him/her. In a way, I try to “be the change I want to see in the world”, to be part of a chain that I presume to be positive.
In return, I am tough on myself and try to pay as much attention as I can to others. I must admit that I can fail. Because I have little patience and can lose it quickly. Even more when I’m not in a good mood as it happens sometimes. But I’m deeply convinced that little efforts from everybody will contribute to create a more respectful and peaceful world.
One question remains. When do you consider that the limit of what is acceptable has been reached? I guess it’s a personal appreciation based on a mix of your traits of character and your own vision of what relations to others should be. I try to rationalize my analysis by checking if I’m the only one to be bothered by the situation, which can give some indication when I have some doubts. It isn’t an exact science, indeed.
One thing has truly changed for me with time: the way I let know what I think. I try to be less aggressive even when I’m about to blow up. And I try to choose the right moment too. As people rarely appreciate to be given a lesson in front of their kids and/or partner, I would have most probably made the same decision than you. But in other circumstances, I may have chosen a different path. Marshall Rosenberg’s book, “Nonviolent Communication: a Language of Life”, has been a fantastic toolbox to me.
I hope you were not too annoyed and enjoyed you coffee after all! Personally, I would have had three creamers 😉
Delivered along the neat line, just with one suffix – “ish” encompassing the whole idea syntactically and stylistically. Your rheme has always been ad rem.
Great writting as always. Moving and touching, his “matter-of-factly” words shake emotions unexpectedly.
Congrats, and please keep sharing your writtings.
Thanks a lot.
The truth is, I’m not a fan of W. Miller, or.. I definitely read what he writes more than watch what he films. And, as a not-fan I have to say I always love to read from him. His mind is more interesting than his face and this is the proof of what I’m saying.
I read his scripts, his short stories, his thesis.. and I loved them all.
This is the last little masterpiece from a brilliant (and exquisitely sick) mind.
Just a thing: I freaking lurve that part about “bodies parts wrapped as Christmas presents” that cracked me up!
As someone else said here writing that “love letter to his work”, please don’t stop to telling us your amazing stories.
*cheering black coffee, with 2 creamers on the side, of course*
!!!!!!! Kiara on Tue, 18th Feb 2014 8:34 am
The truth is, I’m not a fan of W. Miller, or.. I definitely read what he writes more than watch what he films. And, as a not-fan I have to say I always love to read from him. His mind is more interesting than his face and this is the proof of what I’m saying.
I read his scripts, his short stories, his thesis.. and I loved them all.
This is the last little masterpiece from a brilliant (and exquisitely sick) mind.
Just a thing: I freaking lurve that part about “bodies parts wrapped as Christmas presents” that cracked me up!
As someone else said here writing that “love letter to his work”, please don’t stop to telling us your amazing stories.
*cheering black coffee, with 2 creamers on the side, of course* !!!!!
Wow, please tell me you do not know where to find this thesis? I would love to take her reading!
Hi Виктория! If you would read more on his dissertation, please contact the University of Princeton! Ask her thesis, they are very helpful and kindly.
His thesis on the dual identity is really fascinating, though written by a boy of 22 years (approx.)!
… Guaranteed.
sorry.. Ask “his” thesis…
It’s kind of sad that the first thing that comes to mind about an eventual Dad’s reaction is one of the worst. Why assume the worst of him?
It almost makes me read too much into this.
Anyhow, I really enjoyed reading this. A lot. The writing style is very similar to my thinking style. Funny.
Wentworth, supporting the Man Kind Project journal with your special knack of writing is a wonderful example of your passion and generosity towards others.
Hopefully your anecdote teaches people to have more patience, endurance and acceptance and take life not so seriously. Then the world would certainly be a more happier and peaceful place.
“Endurance is one of the most difficult disciplines, but it is to the one who endures that final victory comes.”
Buddha
Keep it up!!!! You are a genius at your craft!!! You’ll surely find a lot more inspirational moments that will boost your writing skills and hopefully will be shared with us furthermore.
I’d like to have that conversation though. (sans ‘running out the door’ part)
… at least for old times’ sake.
Lady Nimue on Sun, Oh, thank you very much!
You’re so cool! I don’t think I have read through something like this before.
So great to fjnd another person with some genuine thoughts on
this subject. Seriously.. many thanks for starting
this up. This web site is one thing that’s needed on the web, someone with
a biit of originality!
I’m not that much of a online reader to be honest but your sites really nice,
keep it up! I’ll go ahead and bookmark your website to come back later.
Cheers
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I’ll tried already twice to leave a comment on this article, but it seems it has been deleted twice or I am the one who’s causing troubles?
Nevermind.
I was in a very similar situation a few days ago, it happend after I read this article. However there was no kids, only an annoying a men and I remember who you describe your thoughts and so I remained calm and could easy overcome it.
Have you ever considered about adding a little bit more than just your articles?
I mean, what you say is valuable and all. But think of if you added some great images or video clips to give your posts more, “pop”!
Your content is excellent but with pics and clips, this site could definitely be
one of the best in its field. Fantastic blog!
Do you have any video of that? I’d like to find out more details.
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Hi Wentworth… I dont know if you are going to read this comment but if you do i would be very happy if you respond!!! Im not making a comment to this article, im generaly speaking… Im 17 years old, im a fan of yours. When i first watched your speech at HRC there were some phrases into that speech… really made me feel like you were talking to me. It was the parts: “But now I’m supposed to put that at risk to be a role model, to someone I’ve never met, who I’m not even sure exists. That didn’t make any sense to me. That did not resonate… at the time.” and “I thought, let me be to someone else what no one was to me. Let me send a message to that kid, maybe in America, maybe someplace far overseas, maybe somewhere deep inside, a kid who’s being targeted at home or at school or in the streets, that someone is watching and listening and caring. That there is an ‘us,’ that there is a ‘we,’ and that kid or teenager or adult is loved, and they are not alone.”………I am a target at school… I prefer leaving with ‘me’… and i believe that its better when you are alone… when i was 15 i tried to kill myself by swalloing a bottle of pills.. thought that it will gonna be peaceful.. that i will sleep and never woke up again..but the next day i woke up not remembering many things from the last night and i thought that maybe that was a sign!! that i must not die and try life’s race again. But when i tried to fix the things they got worse and then i thought “why?”… i tried it enough but it didnt worked.. now im alone again… i self-harm, i cut myself.. to panish him for what i was born.. i dont want to be who i am.. beacause i dont believe that there’s someone up on this planet who can care and listen to my story… a few days ago while i was self-harming i thought that “if i will slit my wrists now.. all this pain will be over..forever” but i didnt…something kept me from doing it.. maybe it was you…i actually read your story and thoought “im not the only one”.. but the bad days are coming all time.. i dont know what to do.. i cant speak to someone.. cause i dont have that someone to speak……Well thats a small part from my story…i want your help…can you help me somehow???
thanks for reading..
In that picture its not me!! dont how it fit there.. nevermind…