"Can I take your order please?”
She fell silent and gazed abstractly over
the right shoulder of the personable young man across the counter. He blinked
up at the illuminated menu running the length of the counter. They all looked
so big! Even the starter-level cheeseburger looked the size of a sofa cushion.
The triple cheesy bacon burger with salad resembled the cross section of a
large compost heap. He sensed the girl's eyes flicking onto him for a brief
instant as his hesitation threatened to knock her out of automatic.
"Cheeseburger please."
"Is that sandwich or meal?" she
trotted out without missing a beat.
He paused. What had
sandwiches got to do with anything? His eyes narrowed. And why would he
suddenly want a meal? He wondered what she thought could have changed in the
split second since he placed his order. Had he unexpectedly been joined by a
friend? He checked and he was still alone. Perhaps he looked paler and more
gaunt than usual and her question was more a piece of friendly advice?
"Meal please." he replied, and
before his rational self got a chance to question his motives his fate was
prodded into the till. His nerves began to steady as he came to terms with what
had happened. But then –
"Do you want to go big on that. It's
only an extra 25p?"
The girl shut down again and locked her
gaze into the middle distance roughly in the direction of his left ear. He looked up at the board again. The extra
large version sat parked like a people carrier next to the coupé of the regular
version. He'd already conceded the
fries and fizzy drink accompaniment, why would he possibly want still more?
"Yes, why not."
My God. He had 'gone big' without even
realising it! This spotty, orange-capped denizen had 'gone him big' without so
much as batting an eyelid. How could a guy who only a year earlier had written
a dissertation on the parallel themes of modernist literature and the
development of jazz music in 1940's New York get 'bigged' so effortlessly by
one so young and vacant? Another
example of the inadequacy of a University education in preparing one for real
life. He felt his shoulders sag
ever so slightly as he waited to take possession of the grilled
gargantuan.
How would he cope? Never mind eating it -
he'd need a set of carefully positioned rollers to get it to the nearest table.
Then he spotted his brown paper parcel making its way towards him through the
milling teenagers and relaxed assuming, by its diminutive proportions, that it
was still several miles away and would not be with him until sunset, giving him
plenty of time to gather together a small party of loyal helpers. He was
therefore startled when the bag was suddenly thrust towards him across the
counter and the aroma of hot mayonnaise hit him square in the nostrils.
"I'm sorry," he stuttered.
"There must be some mistake. I went big."
The big-maker yanked the package back and
peered inside. "Extra large cheeseburger meal with coke, "she
confirmed, checking against the receipt harboured cunningly in her left hand.
She pushing the parcel back. Defeated, he took the bag and skulked off to a
table - as far away from the scene of his humiliation as possible.
He chose a table next to the window, where
a spiral of burger remnants suggested that someone had at least made a gesture
towards wiping it down. His picked up the burger which instantly spewed-forth
its components like a disemboweled clam. He lowered it back into its
polystyrene bath and looked across the street. A slouched figure delivered a
silver flight case into the entrance of a bank where he used it to prop open
the door. He returned to a Volvo estate and ferried a number of similar loads
into the dark void of the banking hall. He was wearing gardening gloves.
The diner picked a limp gherkin sliver from
the wreckage of the collapsed burger.
It seemed that by gradually reducing the size of its products the fast
food trade had caused the stomach's of a large percentage of the population to
contract to the point where a burger the size of a Ginger Nut constituted a
substantial meal. Ironic how the burger joint's well publicised campaign
against the genetic modification of its ingredients did not extend to the
genetic modification of those who ate them.
Across the street, a frail
frightened-looking woman appeared in the bank doorway and tugged the silver box
into the branch causing the door to swing closed. The gloomy banking hall was
suddenly illuminated as if by a heavenly visitation.
Surely it was no coincidence that
restaurant staff had got younger and smaller. And that the remaining big ones
were always positioned right at the back of the kitchens where their big hands
wouldn’t betray the actual dimensions of what they were preparing.
The gardening-gloved one appeared at one of
the windows and began to tape a black sheet up against it, obscuring the
activities within. A tall bearded man in a rugby shirt, jeans and white pumps
emerged from the bank, got into the Volvo and drove off. A minute later he
reappeared and entered the branch again.
And of course smaller staff required smaller
pay packets to buy smaller amounts of food and smaller clothes thus reducing
running costs. Perfection in a
polystyrene carton.
Time to go. He emptied the majority of his
big meal into a surprisingly small waste bin and headed for the door. On the
pavement he lit a cigarette and cantered across the road, dodging a delivery
wagon pulling up outside Beta Pets
next door to the branch. He loitered in front of the pet shop for a moment or
two while he smoked. A couple of
unremarkable rodents chased each other endlessly through a labyrinth of Perspex
plumbing. A lone rabbit crouched
beside a saucer of soggy carrot peelings and eyed him indifferently. Three tortoises tumbled over each other
in slow motion in an attempt to take a bath in the same doggy bowl.
Tortoises? He’d thought they were illegal. Mind you, he ruminated, there must still be a few around. Unless that is they were all given six months to leave the country and return to face almost certain torture and suppression in their respective totalitarian states. Funny though. He hadn't seen a tortoise in years.
He stepped aside as two men in overalls
began to unload what looked like a series of huge cages from the truck and
attempted to squeeze them through the shop's narrow doorway. Obviously expecting some rampant growth
from the inmates. Unless they had
Rhinos round the back.
Flicking his cigarette expertly into a
nearby drain Rupert headed for the branch door. He walked into the banking hall
unopposed. The action seemed to be
taking place at the far end of the hall around the enquiry booths. Excellent. Just as planned. An elderly
woman approached from the back office through the double airlock doors, waiting
diligently for the first to close behind her before opening the second and
proceeding into the banking hall.
As she drew near she raised her eyebrows to invite an explanation of
his identity.
"Hi,” he said. "I'm Rupert Clough. I’m with the film crew."
his identity.
"Hi,” he said. "I'm Rupert Clough. I’m with the film crew."