Ani Says Hi - Not All Hipsters (however wanna-be) Are Opposted to McDonald's: Here's Proof

It's the last place on Earth you'd expect to find a festering cancerous sore. It's sparkly, full of scenesters with knee-high boots and cigarettes, with restaurants and too-expensive clothing stores. It's sometimes filled with society-hating underage alcoholic punks. It's Uptown Minneapolis.

Walking into the festering cancerous sore, I wore boots that I thought made me look hip slash indie, a black coat that tied around my waist and stopped just above my knee, carrying my purse and looking at all the customers as though they were beneath me. As though I was not also in a McDonald's.

Applying for a job.

Smiling, I walked over to the counter and in my "I'm-just-your-average-charming-girl" voice I asked a confused looking white boy (who was, in fact, the manager) for a job application. His facial expression unmoving, he grabbed one from underneath the counter and said, "Here."

Klee and I sat at the nearest table and filled out our application. There was no space to list your qualifications for working at McDonald's. What would one say if there were a space for it anyway? "I have a passion for corporations that won't let their workers unionize. I love it when animals are shot with antibiotics that cause obesity and early puberty in the humans that consume them. In essence, I love trash food and feel like contributing to the globalization of an ever-increasing consumerist global society. Also, I want a free uniform. I could always use more clothing."

Filling in my social security number and tentatively my high school, I signed my name away to the McDonald's corporation and walked over to the counter, where Confused White Boy a.k.a Manager told me to "Just set your application on the counter there. I'll get it later." Smiling once again, I said, "Thank you!" and walked back over to the table, where Klee was slowly eating a small fry. She had a pained look on her face and told me that even the ketchup is patented.

I smiled and pretended that I wasn't your average indie fuck who can talk a lot of talk, but can't walk the damn walk.

(I had eaten McDonald's only three days previous. McChicken, please, and a small fry with honey mustard. I'm lovin it.)