Friday, July 10, 2020

When I get to the mall, my usual cafe is closing. On Fridays, they close earlier than I thought. It’s later than I thought. I head up to the food court. It’s a gamble. I can’t figure out from the new rules whether the eateries or seating will be open. Both are. There are fewer tables than before, but it isn’t busy. I’m not feeling choosy. I go to McDonald’s. I enjoy ordering from the kiosks, since I don’t face any linguistic challenges. I order, get my receipt, and wait at the pickup point. A customer is waiting where the line for the cash register should be. The workers don’t notice him. He finally bellows “Hello?” A worker looks over and tells him that all ordering is now done at the kiosks. He’s not happy. “That’s not normal.” The worker shrugs. “Sir, the world is not normal.” He stomps away to the other burger joint. The word for “normal” is “normalli.” I assume it’s a loan-word. When my meal is ready, they call my number and hand my tray to me. It has a disposable plastic sheath. A few things are jumbled. There’s no straw for the soda. They gave me the wrong salad dressing. I decide not to complain, since that would involve words that I don’t know. The food is exactly what I expect, no better, no worse. Short of massive errors or equipment failures, I don’t think it’s possible for the food to vary much. In a world where the rules seem to change every few hours, that in itself is comforting.