People,

So, this weekend we pack up the Town and Country and move into the city in order to bring rock to the masses. Now, every time we head out to NYC we inevitably eat about thirteen meals at the McDonald's that litter the interstates of our great land.

I love McDonald's. I love the food, the folks, hell, even the fun. I love McDonald's so much that even though I both used to work there and have read Fast Food Nation twice I don't think I'll ever stop eating there. It's like fatty crack and it has made me a ho'.

Anyway, the thing not to like in almost any McDonald's is the service. It's abysmal. No one ever seems to enjoy their job or offers anything remotely resembling courtesy. Ah well, it's just the price you pay for the sweet, sweet, highly processed, made from horribly mistreated animals, delicious food, right?

But yesterday I had an experience at McDonald's that almost restored my faith in humanity. I ordered, got my food and was headed to the drink island at the Mickey Dee's in Davis Square. As I was trying to find a comfortable way to get my drink while also carrying seven million other things my bag ripped and all my fries spilled out across the floor. It sucked. I felt like that kid who drops his ice cream cone before he's had a chance to lick it and just starts crying. Of course, I'm well into my twenties, so crying wasn't exactly an option.

Anyway, I got down on my knees and started cleaning the mess up when from behind the counter comes the manager. I thought she was going to yell at me but instead she treated me like the ice cream cone kid. She literally came over, patted on the back, said "it's OK honey, let me clean this up and we'll get you some more fries," which she did, going so far as to bring them over to me at my table.

I suppose it's sad that this made my day, but in the world we live in, where common courtesy and simple acts of kindness are pretty rare, my McDonald's angel made everything OK. So, thank you, McDonald's angel (not her real name). I will remember you tomorrow when some high school kid on I-90 ignores me for five minutes, gets my order wrong, and when I complain squeezes his pimples into my Big Mac.