McDonald's Purgatory: Why the Church of McDonald's Casts Me Out

We all like to complain about McDonald's, but we all go there.

We all worship at the altar of the perfect hamburger, dip our taste buds in the holy water of the ready Coca Cola, kneel at the pew of the perfect, crisp french fry-and sometimes, just sometimes, instead of getting answered prayers we are cast into purgatory.

McDonald's is on every corner, like a church used to be. But it is more than that. It is a world religion. The masses in Christian Europe, China, Japan, and South America are all making the pilgramage daily.

Unlike other gods, McDonald's fills our bellies. I am sure that if we could, we would sacrifice something to keep the god happy. Keep the Golden Arches smiling at us.

However, from time to time, with no explanation, I have experienced McDonald's purgatory, a limbo zone.

I pull up to the driveup lane and, confident in the efficiency and kindness of the confessional, I list my sins. They are so simple today, just a hamburger, a small fry, and a large coffee.

I leave the confessional, order station and pay my tithe, a tiny amount, really, for I am a humble supplicant.

Then, having made my prayers, I pull up to the last window, where fogiveness and reward await me.

The priestess smiles down upon me through her window to the heavens. She intones the words.

Here is your hamburger; here is your small fries; and could you please pull up and to the side and we will bring you your medium coffee.

Purgatory. I have been sent to purgatory.

There I wait while all of the other cars and SUV's drive past, while all of the complex orders full of Happy Meals and shakes and hamburgers without pickles are filled, while each occupant of each vehicle stares down at me, with pity, or with spite, wondering what sin I have committed to be placed in the holding pen while someone in the Vatican of the Fast Food Church arranges the prayers that will deliver me.

Time is slipping away. Time is another thing that this god offers, meals prepared quickly to allow me the time to drive to work. And that time is slipping away. I begin to sweat; I begin to fret.

Why are their orders, their Happy Meals, their Big Macs, their McNuggets, their Chicken Selects, their Big 'N Tasties, their Filet-O-Fish, their Ranch Snack Wrap, their Chipolte Snack Wrap, or their plain old hamburger prayers answered?

Finally, the correct saint is consulted. The man unwise enough to order coffee on a hot day is given his reward, after waiting, waiting, waiting--in McDonald's purgatory.