The McWhopper, Part I

I walked into a McDonalds this morning and demanded a Whopper. The look on the cashier's $15 per hour face was priceless. She indicated that McDonald's doesn't offer Whoppers and suggested I try a Big Mac instead.

The trouble is, I don't want a Big Mac, I want a Whopper. And she's a racist. Not to be deterred, I asked to speak with her manager. He reminded me of Kip Dynamite and was nice enough, but only reiterated what I'd already been told: McDonalds doesn't serve Whoppers, and to get one, I would have to go to Burger King.

Eff that! Why should I have to spend my time and resources when they're perfectly equipped to give me what I want? It's time to fundamentally transform the golden arches (and he's a racist, too).

I sent a communications blast via my tracking device. Facebook, Twitter, e-mail, text - you name it, I spread the word. Within 20 minutes, approximately 70 people had descended upon McDonalds demanding change. Kip apparently called his general manager, who arrived within the hour asking to speak with me.

Seeming kind of exasperated right from the get-go, he mumbled something about "bullshit" to Kip as I approached.

"Look, I don't know what you're trying to prove here," he barked, "But if this is one of those mash flob things, you'll have to go somewhere else. Fire code states we can only host 80 people at a time, including staff. Also, this is a private establishment and we reserve the right to deny service to anyone at any time."

Oh, now it's on, m**********r! I jumped onto a table and shouted for all my friends to invite everyone they knew. By 2:30 PM, our numbers had swelled to 582 people, per the Nsabook event. Every last one of us shouted in unison for Whoppers, and we were not leaving until our demands were met.

The G.M. must have contacted Corporate, because a bunch of bumbling suits arrived along with some news vans. It was like the Special Olympics or something. In fitting irony, the news story on the McDonalds televisions was us! Much to their chagrin, this must have really gotten the message out, because our numbers were nearing riot proportions. Five thousand? Fifteen?  When it gets so large, how can you even tell? All I knew is that we were legion, and we were not leaving until we got some change we could believe in (and eat).

Kip elbowed his way through the throngs and found me, handing over a menu and some super-secret manual of company gobbledygook.

"Look, I totally get it," he implored, "but the facts are right here. This stuff, along with our standard corporate policies, is our entire basis of operations. We can't make a Whopper because we don't have the same processes, ingredients and method of cooking."

I politely accepted the literature but told Kip that they were not binding. They were only suggestions, a framework of conveniences that the company's fifty-seven stores could surely maneuver around. When the typically white C.E.O. herself walked up asking for some kind of explanation, I told her McDonalds should not presume to know what is best for everyone, and she hadn't built any of it (that's just how white folks will do you). In fact, there have been times where McDonalds has shown arrogance and been dismissive, even derisive. I do think at a certain point, you've made enough Big Macs.

A small but vocal group of racist McDonalds loyalists started protesting with their stupid yellow flags again. Who do these people think they are?? This is 2014 and they need to stop clinging to buns and tradition.

Me? I have become the symbol of the possibility of McDonalds returning to its best traditions. I am resolute in believing that whatever it once was, it is no longer a Big Mac company.

Putting my arm around a clearly flustered Kip, I explained amidst all the furor that individual actions, individual dreams, are not sufficient. We must unite in collective action, build collective McWhoppers.

If I had another son, he'd look exactly like him.