Whopper

It was a cold and rainy Wednesday evening, and the McDonald's just down the road was packed with people who thought fast food was an acceptable last meal before we were all forced into our homes. I had ordered a cheeseburger with fries and a coke from the touchscreens on their self-service kiosks. Yet there it was, plain as day, on the tray with my order slip on it.

A Burger King box. A Burger King box containing what was indisputably a Whopper. In a McDonald's.

Why? The question haunted me. I looked around and above, and was greeted with the sight of golden arches and red polo shirts , clear as could be.

I stared into the eyes of the workers and customers milling around the place, but no clues were to be found there either. With the rest of their faces covered behind masks, their eyes became nothing more than dark pools holding countless unfathomable secrets. And yet I was sure my eyes broadcasted my panic and confusion to everyone around me. Even if the rest of my face was safely hidden behind a protective surgical mask.

"Whopper" was another word for "lie". I'd once caught a glimpse of a grimy rat scurrying across the floor and disappearing into a previously unnoticed crevice in my apartment. The way that thought popped into my head reminded me of that rat now. A flash of something disturbing I'd tried to ignore.

Except I couldn't ignore it now. I had been telling one "whopper" after another to everyone around me my entire life. The proof was that I had them all fooled. People trusted me at work, knew me as a responsible, competent, enthusiastic colleague. My family loved me. My friends came to me with their problems and included me in all their outings.

And yet...

"Be sure your sins will find you out," the voice of my old priest whispered in my head. My charade had gone on for long enough. The Whopper in front of me could be nothing less than a divine rebuke.

This is a goddamn McDonald's, I thought.

I fled outside.

A homeless man was huddled on the pavement as I turned a corner. He had a handkerchief wrapped around his nose and mouth, barely covering them. Even by the light of the nearby streetlamp, I could see that the handkerchief was crusted and stained. It might have been soft once, a long time ago, but it had simply cleaned up one mess too many.

It struck me that even he knew to protect others from the deadly disease of which he might be an unknowing carrier. Someone like him, who society had decided was not worth protecting.

My lips curled in disgust behind my mask. I felt a sudden surge of contempt for the homeless man. With a naive mindset like that, it was no wonder he was out on the streets. Only those willing to fight and kick and step over the heads of their fellow man got to survive and prosper in big houses and fancy yachts. Leaving the weak and soft-hearted out in the cold.

It was the same for me, I thought. I'd stockpiled enough masks for myself, and none for an unfortunate stranger. I could have tossed him some money, perhaps. Nothing like a twenty for being yelled at and beaten up on suspicion of theft.

Then he’d spend the rest of the night with a roof over his head. Or he’d never need to worry about the cold again. Either way.

A laugh bubbled up from somewhere deep inside. It sounded wild and unhinged, even to me.

The man looked up sharply. He caught sight of me and his eyes narrowed.

"Don't see the joke in sleeping on the streets these past few years," he said. He untied his makeshift face-covering and I flinched. Mouths told lies, told whoppers, and consumed Whoppers. I didn't want to see anyone's mouth ever again. I had to get away.

That damn box was still in my hand. I tossed it at him.

"Hey!"

I didn't look back. I hurried on.

Was this how far I had sunk? Laughing at a homeless man? Maybe I was the monster after all. The world could never be wrong.

Majority rules, after all.

And I was a minority of one. The only person to go to a McDonald's and get served a Whopper.

I laughed again. Everyone else was worrying about the plague, about dying, and here I was, utterly consumed by this out-of-place burger. But, in a way, my concern was far more legitimate than theirs. 

The streets were full of cars and people going about their weeknight business. Many wore masks, but for every one of them I counted several more who didn't. And for every person who'd worn their mask correctly, there were at least three others who had their noses exposed. Exhaling the virus we were all trying to hide from in a cloud of water vapor for everyone to breathe in.

Just thinking of the teeming germs crammed into every droplet of their breath made me feel sick. Were they so uncaring of their fellow man that they refused to put more than the barest minimum of effort into following instructions? Did they simply think themselves above adhering to any kind of procedure? How could they walk around so serenely, so uncaring of the things they were breathing out to contaminate the air around them every minute?

We are a plague. I'd heard those words long ago, I no longer remembered from where. But now, observing everyone around me, I knew that whoever had said it had been right.

We were the plague. The plague was our selfishness, our insistence on displaying ourselves.

I imagined the masks weren't meant to cover up our noses and mouths at all. Instead they were simply meant to obscure our faces. So that we could not see each other. Then, social creatures that we were, we would refuse to wear masks and ignore social distancing measures until we all caught the plague and died out. No more misplaced Whoppers ever again.

I almost looked forward to it.