Oh, so that’s how it is, is it? You click the burger, you get a burger. No. No burgers will be eaten. Not under my roof. While you’re in my house you abide by my rules.
You’d assume that my long standing voyage into vegetarianism* would render working for McDonald’s as something of an internal conflict. I think it’s telling of how eroded I am as a human being that I accept the slaughtered lamb dollar with little more than a sigh and the moderate raising of a single eyebrow. If that, even. What next? Chicken Cottage? An actual abattoir? THE CAMBODIAN KILLING FIELDS?
Truth is, there’s a very large chance I despise urban music more than the senseless, unecessary destruction of animals. I’d be sickened to have to see a pig have its throat slit, convulsing in horrific pain as its life slowly ebbs away in a stinking dungeon, but then I’d probably rather that than have to sit though a two hour gig by some talentless, repetitive shithouse like Akon.
To summarise, I did a fair few of these, but I was a full time employee for three years, so I largely had no choice. Not if I wanted to keep the cupboards full of mung beans, tofu and <insert stereotypical vegetarian foodstuff to the hilarity of carnivorous onlookers>.
* As of 2018, I am now actually vegan. Which makes me extra SPECIALLY annoying, as I’m sure you’re more than aware.
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