by Lauren Phillips
Today at noon there was a protest rally at McDonald's on MLK in observance of "World Day of Action Against McDonald's", part of "End Corporate Dominance Month", or, as we used to say back home, "October". McDonald's, as everyone knows, burns down miles of rainforest just for fun, forces 12 year old Ph.D.s to work 18 hour days for minimum wage, and even kills animals to make their food. (This last claim is, at present, unsubstantiated.) I still don't know who organized this event, but my homeboy Chris and I saw their poster on a kiosk, and we decided Mickey's would make a good lunch. The people who made the poster didn't seem to think so though. It said "ROTTEN McMURDER FORCE-FEEDS ANOTHER VICTIM" with a picture of a crazy clown with pointed teeth. I had clown-issues as a child, and it made me uncomfortable. But we went down to the Golden Arches about 11:45.
We figured they knew what was up because there were four tough looking corporate types hanging around outside with beepers and cell phones and short sleeve button-down pink shirts. I went and talked to two of them as soon as I got my Quarter-pounder value meal. "I'm from a conservative philosophical organization at UT," I said, which is how I describe Objectivism to people who wouldn't know or care. "I understand there's going to be a bit of a demonstration in about ten minutes..." "Well, they're entitled to their opinion," he retorted, eyeing me suspiciously behind his Ray-Bans. "We're just making sure they don't bother the customers." His name was Jeff. "Is this guy with you?" asked Jeff, as Chris came back from talking to the first protesters. I told him that he was, and that we had just come to watch the fun. "We aren't going to get involved," I explained, and I really meant it at the time.
The crowd was growing faster than I could finish my milkshake, and by the time I was done they had about 30 people with posters and one very dirty looking girl with a megaphone. "WHAT'S THE SOLUTION???" she would yell, and the crowd (who I think had been given the answer in advance) answered "VEGAN REVOLUTION!!!" The posters had a variety of catchy slogans, from the subtle (yet pointed) "McMurder's is killing the Earth," to the bold "MEAT: Murder for Them, Suicide for You," and even the profound "Earth First/Profits Last" which had a nice picture of a raised fist. I think the girl carrying it had drawn it herself.
Jeff was warming up to the fun and came over to show us their pamphlets. He took a moment to ask about our majors, and made sure we had enjoyed our food. Unfortunately, our conversation was rudely interrupted by three girls on bicycles who decided to peddle around the building yelling war whoops and waving bloody hatchets made from aluminum foil and cardboard tubes. "Y'all better get off the property," threatened Jeff. He was talking to the girls, not us.
Chris and I decided we might like some Chicken McNuggets. I got honey sauce, but he likes BBQ, which is fine. I got some orange juice, too.
It was a nice day for a protest rally, we mused. The protesters thought so too, because they were sitting on the grass having a good old time, shouting and jeering at customers. Two guys were playing bongos. One man had on a cow suit, and a girl had on a Ronald McDonald outfit with bloody fangs. Maybe they planned the rally close to Halloween so they wouldn't have to worry about two costumes. I didn't ask them.
As we finished our lunch, a nice older man was sweeping the porch. He smiled alot, and the manager would come out to check on him every few minutes. I think he was retarded, but that isn't a nice word anymore so I guess he was something else.
Chris and I went down to watch the crowd. We saw some friends of ours from high school, but they didn't seem happy to see us. Chris thought it might be our drink cups. "You're condoning oppression!" screamed somebody at me. "It's pure Florida orange juice," I tried to explain, but she didn't want to listen I guess. "So you like the fact that orange workers are paid forty cents an hour to pick oranges?" "I like orange juice," I said. She was upset. "I'm from Florida. It's hot in Florida. Those people pick oranges in the HEAT!" There was spittle coming out of her mouth. "But it's the humidity that really gets you," I offered. "You're really confused, pal." It was true. I couldn't understand what she was talking about. A man who looked like he might be in charge was yelling at one of Jeff's friends with a loudspeaker. "So, how many Hudson's patties did you send back, Mickey's Man, or did you just throw 'em all on the grill and serve 'em up?" People thought this was very funny.
Then the police came. "Well, well," said somebody. "The PIGS are here to defend corporate America!" and everyone cheered. Including me. I thought they might be here to round them all up and take them downtown. I was wrong. Chris was getting bored so we headed up to talk with a Daily Texan reporter. Look for the coverage of the rally tomorrow. With a little luck, I'll get slammed.
I looked out over the throng, which by now was sixty strong, and realized that I was out of orange juice. But the protesters didn't have any orange juice to begin with. And they were out by the street in the sun yelling. I understood that it was in my power to make a peace offering, on behalf of all capitalists everywhere, to show them that we weren't so bad. I went inside and got 8 small Cokes that I paid for with my own money. "How do you feel about the rally?" I asked the cashier. "It don't bother me," he said. "I'm just glad to be working."
I went out into the sunshine with my offering. "I've got cold Cokes," I shouted. "They're FREE!!!" and I waited for the rush. No one came. I got some mean looks. A homeless guy on a bike who was watching the protest said he'd like one, so I gave it to him. "Thanks, man. Hey, do you want any CDs?" He had a backpack full of used tapes and CDs. I took a Genesis tape, "We Can't Dance," and moved on. Three tough but confused guys that had just been walking by when someone handed them posters, took Cokes. "Hey, they're free, right?" they said, justifying their treason.
I continued with my quest as an ambassador of good will, trying to give away my sodas, until one guy said, "You got a little tummy there, eh? And some chubby little tits, too. I guess you've been eating at Mickey D's alot." I wanted to push him into traffic, but offered him the Genesis tape instead. He wouldn't talk to me anymore. So I decided to call it a day. Chris and I each had one of the four remaining Cokes. We offered the others to Jeff and the policepersons. Jeff had one, and also took the Genesis tape. "What the hell were y'all doing out there?" he asked us. "They looked a little hot," I said. It seemed like a good time to leave.
We did, and I wrote the experience off as a resounding success. I really made genuine contact with some people today, and I also know how people REALLY feel about my tits, and not just what my friends say.