PROOF OF HOPE. PROOF OF CHANGE.

It's the first week of March, 2009. The GW Bush Presidency is gone and done with, our nation is knee-deep in the worst recession since the 1930's, and somehow fate has decreed that a hard-boiled metrosexual detective from 2008 has ended up in the early 1970's in a precinct run by Harvey Keitel (who's only acting direction in the 6 or 7 episodes I have watched so far redefines the term "phoning it in").

And yet, if you look... heroes are emerging.

Many of you will remember my McDonald's nemesis Marcello. The man is a shyster, a hooligan, and a harried part-time employee at the closest fast-food restaurant to my workplace. Despite the painful way he has treated me in the past, I have not stopped eating at the place. This is because I am a fat, miserable dick. I blame the Scottish Bastard that Marcello works for. Hate the game, folks, not the playas.

The Scottish Bastard's newest ploy in the epic Plot To Give Me A Bypass By The Time I Am 40 involves the Lent-based Double Filet-O-Fish Sandwich. Let's bring this puppy out so everyone can marvel at its' glory...

(image courtesy of McChronicles)

There it is, folks... the answer to the burning question: "Hey, kids! Do you LOVE the taste of fish sticks but HATE having to eat them at home, all alone?"

I wanted a light lunch, since I am currently battling my third head cold in as many months (and worrying tremendously about my immune system and what sort of effect that evening with that Thai hooker with the Adam's apple has had on it), but I am not yet ill enough to stave off nausea. My natural curiosity won out and I found myself at the drive-thru window asking for the five-dollar value meal. With a Dr. Pepper. Because I am sick, after all.

It was only after I had gotten out of the parking lot and was headed back to my cozy little desk when it struck me that in addition to TWO "filets" (I spelled that right, look it up) on a lightly-steamed bun, I was also currently in possession of an entire order of salty, potato-y McDonald's french fries! Oh happy day!

But what to dip them in?

My office has a common area with a shelf that has become a catch-all for fast-food detritus. If you need a tiny paper double-tube of salt or pepper, we can handle that for you. Are you looking for a spork? You are covered. Need a place to deposit the extra 45 packets of "mild" sauce from your trip to Taco Bell? Drop 'em in a bowl and wash your hands of the burden of unwanted sauce-ownership.

Sadly, even though you can acquire a packet of mayonnaise and six fortune cookies in our break room, the area suffers from a ketchup drought. Something about the tomato-and-high-fructose-corn-syrup concoction makes it very rare and succulent in our office. And although you CAN consume McDonald's french fries without dipping them in ketchup, it's not recommended.

"But Ryan", you say around a mouthful of raisins, green salad and lite Italian dressing (fuck you, you health nut), "everybody gets french fries with their meals at The Scottish Bastard's, and nobody ever remembers the ketchup packets!"

Right you are. However: nine times out of ten your greasy, condiment-laden sandwich will drip half of its' contents onto the cardboard container where you have dumped your fries, thus allowing you SOME sort of alternative to eating dry-and-salty pommes frites.

You can't do that with a Filet-O-Fish. Because french fries and tartar sauce is fucking gross.

Seriously. It's horrifyingly disgusting. My guess is that when Steve-O from that MTV show where the two "NOT GAY" guys run around the planet and throw up all the time is about to eat something like a caribou turd or an iguana's dick, the last thing he thinks when it's going in his mouth is "well at least this isn't going to taste like a french fry in tarter sauce". Next thing you know... "Huuurk! Huulll-wik! HORF!" Oh, the ratings!

So here is my sad lament... I am headed up to my desk with a double-decker sandwich that can't even legally include the proper spelling of fillet in its' title, and I know that in a half hour I will need more to drink because of the amount of salt I am going to be sucking down with these delicious Potato Sticks of Death. And there will be NOTHING TO DIP THEM IN, because I was too phlegmy and medicine-headed to say anything about ketchup when I had the chance.

And then I opened my to-go bag...

Yes indeed! Sitting on top of my food, glowing like a beacon of hope...

MARCELLO HAD GIVEN ME FOUR PACKETS OF UNSOLICITED KETCHUP.

This is a crazy world we live in. The Republicans are telling us that Obama is a Muslim. You can't buy sinus medication over-the-counter any more for fear of meth labs. Nobody knows if Ben or Whidmore is the good guy...

But in one corner of one town, a guy had the foresight to slip another guy a few packets of ketchup without having to ask for it.

My world is a little bit sunnier. A little bit brighter.

Yes We Can.