Old Woman Parts Crowd

I lunched at McDonald's on a whim and found myself at the end of a long line. This line became, as lines of hungry people do, more squiggly and chaotic in the span of about ten minutes. Twenty or so of us, young and old, townie and hippie and all, willed ourselves closer to the register, closer to filling our bellies with crap. Gobs and gobs of crap, shaped into fries, burgers, and soft drinks.

There were two fat women in front of me talking about slippers. They wore matching black outfits. They were blond. One was a little taller than the other.

They might have been sisters.

We inched forward.

Then came an old woman, who held her plastic tray and its gobs of crap up so high she looked like a little girl trying to hop onto a kitchen counter. She had been here before, and her eyes were happy.

We made way for her, happy eyes and all.

"Excuse me," she said, pushing her tray through the crowd, "I'm sorry, excuse me, excuse me, I'm so sorry, excuse me..."

One of the fat women said to her, "Don't ever be sorry for parting a crowd."

I liked that.