Forgive me father for I have sinned. Today I went out into the
streets with the full intention of going into a McDonald’s of my own
free will to pacify a debilitating hamburger craving that had been dogging
me for three days. Other than the aforementioned dreaded Micky D’s,
hamburgers did not seem to be in the daily diets of the Spanish or Portuguese.
I was unable to find the European equivalent of a burger joint, thus you see
my dilemma and only course of action.
In a bizarre twist, for the first time all summer, I could not
find a goddamn McDonald’s. God chose to torture me by sending me out
on my unspeakable quest in Lisbon, a city that doesn’t yet have a McDonald’s
on every third block. The irony was exasperating. I walked for 30 minutes,
cursing my weak strength of will while desperately squinting off into the
distance in the hopes of catching a glimpse of the Golden Arches. Finally,
as I was about to drop to my knees and sob uncontrollably in my own wretchedness,
a familiar sign across the street caught my eye. “Hard Rock Café.”
My nemesis and savior. I carefully looked around. There didn’t appear
to be an American anywhere in sight. I casually approached the door, not wanting
to draw attention to myself and after taking one last inconspicuous look around,
I made my move. As I passed the door, in one swift blur of motion, I quickly
spun around through the door and into the safe anonymity of the bar. I kept
my head down as I made a b-line for the back corner of the room where I could
binge unnoticed, but a pack of 11 teenaged Portuguese girls had claimed that
part of the restaurant for their own. I was forced to sit at a raised bar
table, right next to the window simultaneously giving me a wide view of the
busy street and putting myself on full display to all the passersby. I skootched
my chair around the table and sat with my back to the spectators flowing past,
who all appeared to be taking long, lingering looks into the restaurant to
observe, point and laugh at the brainwashed, dumb-asses eating this horribly
unhealthy and over-priced American cuisine, just as I had done so many times
in the past. I got my bacon-cheese burger, inhaled it and left without making
eye contact with anyone.
I will say 93 “Our fathers” and 187 “Hail
Marys,” in addition to running five miles as soon as I finish this paragraph
and eating nothing but fruits and vegetables for the next 24 hours. Thy will
be done.