Paul S.
Google
This McDonald’s, rebuilt after the devastating floods caused by Helene, is the distilled embodiment of all that is alienating about the modern world, and represents the deep cynicism inherent to neoliberal capitalism.
The outside, beautiful by McDonald’s standards—looks like an English Tudor style home. This refreshingly quaint exterior masks an internal darkness. Once you enter, say goodbye to cozy. Say hello to postmodern minimalism—cold, grey, and beige. A player piano in the corner promises an elegant whimsy, but the tunes emanating from the instrument serve only to fuel a dissonance between expectation vs realty that opens up a psychic wound, resting just beneath your consciousness. You might not even be aware of it, but what you are experiencing is evolutionary trauma; all of God’s creation turning its back on you as you arrive at the intersection of man’s artifice and man’s evil, laundered through a base appropriation of man’s deep desire to create + their ingenuity. All of this in the service of selling slop.
You order at a kiosk, again finding yourself isolated—divorced from any semblance of human fellowship. You eat the Big Mac. An object of such lore that surely it will repair your fraying soul. Wrong. It deepens the wound. It tastes like a dream about a child’s drawing of a burger. Again, dissonance. You see the burger there. You’re eating the burger. But you feel nothing. Empty calories for an empty life drained of all meaning by a clown—a clown that laughs at you as you immiserate your soul. In a room like this, death waits around the corner. You wait while the piano muzak plays—surely the nurses will arrive soon to take you away. But they never come. They never come.
Overall, not bad. Very clean, quick service, and I enjoyed shaking up my Grinch fries.