I'm Lovin' It

Somewhere in London, New York, Washington or wherever the marketing types of McDonald’s hangout. There are moves a foot within this shadowy select band plotting the next PR campaign in the company’s continued domination of the fast-food market.

Meanwhile, in a small outpost, which is Walton, Liverpool the inmates have seemingly taken over the asylum. At a McDonald’s restaurant in the shadow of Walton Prison – (this fact may, or may not be significant) it is reassuring to know that all that the marketing types are plotting, is slowly being undone by a select band. Not your Morgan Spurlock – Super Size Me type – but by what can only be termed as herberts, and herberts of the highest order at that. A few months back I managed to witness their work in the flesh.

Fast food it says on the sign as you approach the tell tale golden arches, a symbol that has come to represent everything that has come to represent the crassness of Mikey D’s.

It’s approaching 11.00 on a Wednesday night. Having spent an enjoyable night at the playhouse in Liverpool and catching up with a friend who was gigging in a local pub. Feeling a little peckish and instead of my preferred option of a bag of chips, the decision is taken by the girlfriend to stop off at McDonald’s. Admittedly this is a decision that doesn’t exactly require me to be dragged kicking and screaming into the establishment, as I’m starving.

The gaff was obviously in the process of shutting down for the night and seemingly it now had been over run by an ASBO convention. It turns out that this is what passes for staff here at McDonald’s.

A herbert at the counter took our money. He was dressed in his finest shiny St Johns Market shell-suit, with no hint of a gold star in sight. The ‘have a nice day y’all’ attitude was replaced by a grunt. Eventually he dragged his knuckles over to the window to take my cash. I wasn’t too bothered if he pocketed the cash – just as long as some food turned up.

Joy upon joys, we had the choice of either a McChicken Premiere or a McChicken Premiere – which we would have to wait for while the fat bird behind the counter continued chatting to her boyfriend Wayne or whatever he was called. Finally our food arrived in its brown bag and was promptly handed over like it was a bag of radioactive dog-turd.

The food was, as you would expect. I probably would have received more nourishment from the polystyrene carton it was served in. All in all it was an experience that I certainly won't be repeating in the near future.

With the continual bombardment of McDonald’s during the World Cup, it is pleasing to see that a select band of herberts are trying to bring the organisation down from within.

So when you hear about the decline of the McDonald’s empire, it wont be activists like Morgan Spurlock or the author of Fast Food Nation, Eric Schlosser, but this select band of herberts.

Keep up the not so good work!!