So I fly into Charlotte last night about 9:00 and head over to my hotel. On the way, I stop at McDonald's to get the good old number 1 (Big Mac, fries, drink) to go. The young man behind the counter seemed nice enough, although he could have been a whole lot cleaner. And the filthy hat could have been thrown away.
And I wish they'd furnished him gloves.
After having given him a ten, he hands me my change and a bag o' stuff. Then he passes me my empty cup with which I'm supposed to go find the coke dispenser and pour my own drink. Saves on labor costs, I guess.
It was the manner in which he handed me my cup that pissed me off. He held it with his bare, greasy hand by the rim, with four fingers wrapped over the rim and down the inside and his thumb braced against the outside. He set it on the countertop.
There was no way I was touching that cup. He might as well have run his tongue around the rim. I would have had the same reaction. Perhaps.
So I asked - politely - for another cup.
"What?" he asked.
"Your fingers were inside my cup, man. I'm not drinking out of that thing."
"Oh."
He didn't seem to be particularly flustered by my request. In all probability, I wasn't the first person that day that had requested that he not share his germs with his customers. He simply reached for another cup and set it on the counter, at least being careful not to ram his hand down inside this time.
I took my bag o' stuff, filled my cup with Diet Coke, and left for the hotel.
I usually enjoy the occasional Big Mac. But somehow, on this particular night, I was haunted by this recurring thought about ...
