Now reading Golden Gate Mac

Golden Gate Mac

Working at McDonald's, in poetry form.

probably the briefest job i held
during my days in sf
was the gig i had
at the mcdonald’s on haight
right at the mouth
of golden gate park

i only had it for a couple weeks
but when i first got it, i was glad
because i’d just gotten kicked out
of the apt. where i’d been living
because i mistakenly pissed
on a room mate’s younger sister

she’d been on the road
following the dead, as I recall
and she was sleeping in front of the fireplace
which you have to admit
could be confused for a toilet
if it was dark, and you were very drunk

anyway, i had then taken up ressidence
in a tree near the eastern end of the park
so it was quite a convenient job for me
the only problem was that it totally sucked
i was about the only person working there
who wasn’t from the phillipines
and the manager, manny, thought i was slow
because i couldn’t understand the training videos
which were in fucking tagalog or some similar tongue

but i didn’t care that much, since his evaluation
meant i mostly got to stand around in the parking lot
holding a broom and trying to make sure non-customers
didn’t take advantage of our execellent location
while visiting the park without a big mac in hand
it meant i could smoke at work, which was okay
but manny was a fascist about drinking at work
even though drink & smoke are natural allies
he would have none of it. not even beer

like i said, the job sucked
but at least having it meant i could show employment
which meant i could get a room at this SRO
up at the corner of cole and stanyan
for $65 a month, which was a pretty great price
since i could make that just selling plasma
which was a much better job than mcdonald’s
although it was fun to walk around the haight in the uniform
late at night
or to wear it to some punk show

but you can’t have everything

Illustration by Dennis Tyfus