The Very Scary Late-Night McDonald's Run

paradigm /păr′ə-dīm″, -dĭm″/
noun
A set of assumptions, concepts, values, and practices that constitutes a way of viewing reality for the community that shares them, especially in an intellectual discipline.

It was 10:50 PM, and I wanted McDonald's. So we walked there together, me and my roommate Angelo. Storm clouds loomed over us, but the air under the streetlights was crisp and clear.

The day had been long and hot and humid, but the night brought cool air. Visions of quarter pounders with cheese danced through my head as we skirted around suburban sidewalks, dodging plants and puddles in the dark.

We crossed the railroad tracks and I glanced down the line. All was quiet.

Down the street, McDonald's was there, glowing. I saw a woman sweeping trash. A disheveled man was hunched over inside the vestibule, facing the exit as if he meant to leave, yet he made no motion towards the door. He had long grey hair, grey stubble on his face, some kind of hat, and what looked like several jackets on. Angelo stepped forward to open the door for him, but the door clinked against its frame and did not move. Angelo tried again. The door was locked.

This was strange for several reasons. First of all, a man was inside the building, possibly trying to get out. Second of all, that McDonald's closes at midnight, yet it was barely 11.

We started towards the other entrance, and as we approached the other door, we heard the first door close, and the man shuffled away without a word. It was good that he could get out—but would we be able to get in?

We stood around for a few minutes, discussing our options (can you walk through a drive-through?) when another man appeared from around the corner. He looked suspiciously similar to the first man, but he was standing up straight, and had only one jacket. Perhaps, I thought, he also wanted to eat some McDonald's but was trying to solve the Mystery of the Locked Doors.

Then everything changed. And not in a good way. In a seriously spooky way.

Instead of trying the other door, he walked through the shrubbery and put his face up to the window and looked directly into the lobby, his hand half-raised as if he meant to tap on the glass, but he just stood there, looking in, his back to us, staring at all the people who weren't in there. Or staring at the woman sweeping.

Angelo and I both stared at him, and glanced at each other. Angelo was probably thinking that this was a great opportunity to walk away. But Angelo hadn't had to watch his Mario Super Sluggers team lose by one run after an unfortunate double play in the bottom of the ninth inning. So I opened my mouth, not really caring what happened to me, which is kind of a shitty thing to do because there was someone else with me who would soon have to endure the consequences of that action.

"You here to pick something up, too?" I said, in a poor attempt to make light of the locked-door situation.

"No," he said, and he turned to look at me.

No?

I barely had time to process his answer before he spoke again. "Why don't you just walk through the drive-through?"

Angelo and I had discussed this option, but we reasoned that maybe the woman was the only employee, and having been in that situation myself, the last thing I'd want is two idiots walking through the drive-through at 11pm when I'm trying to close the store by myself.

But the calmness emanating from the man caught me off guard. Despite his strange behavior, he seemed normal, mostly. Or was he slurring his words?

"We thought of that!" I exclaimed, while Angelo slowly inched away. "But I wasn't sure if you're allowed to or not."

He chuckled to himself, looked directly at me for the first time, and slurred, "Can you walk through a paradigm?"

It was like realizing you're in a nightmare but not being able to wake yourself up.

"Can you walk through a paradigm?" he had said.

I thought I had misheard him, but by the time I realized I hadn't, my brain had already sent words to my mouth.

"I guess so," I replied, as if he'd said something perfectly normal.

"Can you?" he said, and took a step out of the bushes towards us.

At that point Angelo began to walk away, and my brain finally realized that the correct move was to do the same.

"We'll probably try again another time... have a nice evening," I said, as we walked away, our pace increasing with every step.

"You too," he slurred back at us.

I thank God Angelo was there, for a few reasons. First of all—he saw it happen. "I've never wished I was recording an interaction more in my entire life," he remarked as we walked home, giggling uncontrollably, repeating his words back at each other.

The other reason I'm glad Angelo was there was for my safety. Not for my physical safety (Angelo is five feet tall) but for the safety of my soul. If I had encountered the man alone, and he had spoken those words to me ("Can you walk through a paradigm?"), I might have become trapped in the moment forever... forced to relive it again and again for all of eternity... isolated from the world and from the people I love. I'd be trapped right outside that McDonald's, with the fluorescent lights from the locked lobby glowing out into the night. And despite my proximity to the fine dining establishment, I'd never be able to buy a quarter pounder with cheese—and a large coke—ever again.

Maybe the man was some kind of ghost, or a ghoul. Maybe he was the trickster archetype from someone's literary fanfiction who escaped, set on haunting innocent and hungry passerby.

Or maybe he was the Devil himself—the Adversary, the Deceiver.

But he was probably just some drunk guy.

Probably.

Late at night, when the streets become quiet, and storm clouds roll across the face of the moon, I think about his words over and over again in my head. What did he mean by that? What the fuck is a paradigm? What did that have to do with ordering McDonald's?

What is a paradigm? Maybe I knew once, but since he asked that fateful question, I realized I don't really know. I didn't think it was something you could walk through. Maybe if I had been thinking straight, I would have asked him to explain, but I wasn't. It was 11:00 PM and there was a strange man saying strange things to me.

I was brave enough to ask the first question. But I wasn't brave enough to ask the questions that came next.

Maybe the drive-through isn't real, and maybe I can walk through a paradigm after all. Maybe the drive-through is a social concept engineered by the far right to make our society weaker and more compliant. Perhaps the left is responsible instead. Or maybe it's all because of one man.

I don't have the answers. But I know who does.

Some nights when 11:00 PM draws near, I sit in my apartment and think about going back to the McDonald's, to face him and demand answers. But part of me is afraid that I'm already there, sitting at a plastic booth and pretending it's my desk in my room. And as I ponder this possibility, I realize I can't turn and look at the window beside me, because there's a chance I'll see his face looking through the glass, illuminated by the glow of the lobby lights, with nothing but storm clouds and streetlights behind him.