The cashier, who was straddling that fuzzy facial hair bracket and could have been 15 but also maybe 19, punched a series of buttons on the cash register. Maple McOatmeal Medium McLatte

"Wait? How do I put in the Fat Free?"

He fumbled. His fingers hovered above the pad of buttons, his eyes darted up and down.

Several lines of customers shifted in their boots.

"This is so gay."

This? This cash register? This morning rush of customers? This inability to find the Fat Free button? This McJob?

Not sure. Maybe it was all so gay.

Ugggggggh.

Don't you hate it when it is all so gay? When the actual buttons on a cash register are so gay that their gayness actually gets in the way of your ability to, like, THINK? When customers are just...gay...gay to stand in line and pay for food which covers your paycheck? I mean, that's gay, right?

I mean, frankly, I was worried that the GAY was going to actually GET ON MY FOOD, this whole place was feeling so gay. It was downright uncomfortable to be patronizing an establishment I knew to be so full of the gay that it was DISTRACTING the cashier from doing his duties.

And because we could all understand, no one said anything to the cashier about disparaging a whole demographic who were SINGLE-HANDEDLY responsible for his inability so gay to find the button so gay.

If things got any worse in there, like if McLattes were not even able to accommodate the Fat Free, we might have had to go and scapegoat other marginalized peoples. Because if problems escalated, we might have also had to hold accountable the So Retarded, the So Illiterate, the So Undocumented, the So Autistic, the So Flat-Chested, the So Bankrupt. And let's not forget the So Backslidden and the So Uninsured. It was all their fault. I mean, can they even live with themselves for interrupting business as McUsual?

I finally got my McBrekkie but as I made my McExit, I pondered talking to the McManager about my concerns about how gay things had gotten at Register 2. How concerned I was for the working conditions befitting the cashier such that he was forced to constantly hurdle the gayness, in the midst of stacking the trays and taking the cash and not letting the fries spill. Because if he felt that the only person he could mutter his grievance to about This being So Gay was a paying customer, then maybe he was having a hard time being heard. Or maybe that's just how he perceived it.