Champagne at McDonalds

It’s our purpose to go to the hurting, but often, they come to us.


She stopped me only a moment after I stepped away from the ATM in the middle of the busy Dun Laoghaire square. I looked at her squarely; something was awry. Her eyes were a tired hazel, her skin showed signs of premature aging with the tell-tale “Oompa Loompa orange” of artificial tanning.


“I didn’t stop you because of you’re there…” pointing at the ATM. She apologized in a raspy, educated Dublin accent, “…but all I need is some money to get me to tomorrow . Eight or ten Euros, maybe twelve or fifteen? A twenty is all I need…” pleading for higher and higher handouts.


I kept my eyes locked. I know what it means to be in need. I also know that money is not always the answer.


She continued, ”…all I really need is food…and cigarettes. Maybe even just some chicken from McDonald’s, that’s all I need. You can even come with me, it’s just up the way…”


“Alright, I’ll go with you to McDonald’s” I replied immediately.


She seemed a little glad and a little confused by my quick answer, but led me up the busy street with a broken smile and bright orange complexion. I began to consider my situation – here I was meant to enjoy a pleasant day at the harbour and now I found myself following a middle-aged lady with a hankering for chicken bites.


“You know I wasn’t always broke. My family is rich, but I fell out with my brother. I just left the treatment home and f*’n knew that was a bad decision right away. I’ll tell you what else is broke is my f*’n finger,” she held up a sort of sausage shaped digit, obviously smashed in a door or something. “Hurt’s like hell so it does.”


She was dressed well, or…well enough. Her clothes were clean, her hair, though a bit disheveled, was newly tinted and had an attempt at style. This was a lady who has been through a lot in a short period of time. I think, perhaps, she is at the end of her rope. The Lord had put me here for a purpose and so I settled in my mind that I would invest my time with her for the next hour while my mates were at a meeting.


We arrived at the McDonald’s and stood in line. She spoke aloud as she scanned the menu, “Chicken bites or Cheese bites? Cheese bites look nice. Will you eat some if I get six or eight? Do they come in six?” addressing the clerk. The clerk turned to find the manager and they chatted. She returned.


“Sorry, only orders of four.”


“Then just one order. You can share with me?” she asked me. “And a cup of water with ice…lots of ice, a little water. Mostly Ice. Half water.” I had never heard such a specific request for water at McDonald’s.


“Perhaps. But I think I’ll just have a small Coke.” I said to the clerk.


“Oh, you must share with me! I would feel bad if I was the only one eating.” I had eaten so much already that morning, but I conceded to share so as to respect her.


We received our order and she led me upstairs to first-floor seating. She was excited, “You can listen to me talk to you for a whole hour!” We settled in the corner.


She set her stuff out commenting on about a bit of OCD (like the best of us have), and thought aloud, “Too much water, I’ll go get just ice…” So she left me there with my thoughts. Returning, “Better! Now, my brother gave me this bottle of champagne and said, ‘If you’re down you can just have a bit to drink.’ ” and out she pulled a brand new bottle of champagne. She looked around and turned in the corner, removed the foil and twisted the cork *POP* and *Fizzzz*


The party began. In McDonald’s. At 12 noon. What have I gotten myself into?


She poured her glass full and opened the cheese bites. I sipped on my Coke. She took a sip and began to talk.


She had left the treatment home just a few days ago. She was very fond of the drink. She had prided herself for not having done any of the hard drugs like her companions in the home. But they stole from her. Her money, her things. And no one would help her. She had a sharp disagreement with her brother, who was rich.


“My Son lives with him…” She began to tear up and she looked away. There was a pause. “I haven’t seen him in a while…”


She paused again, topped of her cup and changed the subject. “I should put on more makeup. Lipstick…”


She opened her bag and pulled out a handful of cosmetics, then drew red on her lips and smacked a couple of times. Then she applied some sort of pearlescent paint. Smacked her lips again. “There!”


“Thank you so much for listening to me. You have beautiful eyes. Can I kiss you?” Leaning over the table.


“Um, no.” I was confused.


“Not on the lips, just your cheek.”


“Um, okay.” So I turned my cheek and she kissed me. I felt a bit of lip paint still on my cheek.


“Thank you” said I. She took a drink.


She collected her thoughts took another sip and continued pouring over her life. This time she told about her mother being in the hospital with a stroke. She held up her arms to show how her mum was kept in the hospital. “I love my mum so much,” she wept. She went on to tell about her brother, the business he owned and the treatment of herself. As she spoke I look intently at her, I hung on every word. I know what it means to hurt and I was happy that I could listen. But then she looked at me. Straight into my eyes.


“You’re thinking about something aren’t you?”


“Yes,” I replied. “In fact, I am praying.” There was a brief pause.


“Do you know that it is not God’s will? It is not his will that you have been hurt. People make horrible choices, he can use them for his purpose but they are not his will. Everything that you have done wrong, from today reaching back to day one can be forgiven, forgotten. You have already said that you don’t know where to go from here, but I can bring you back to the beginning. God loves you, Jesus loves you and today it can begin to be right with you. There is hope.” I didn’t break my sight of her. I prayed for her son, her mum and her brother. I prayed for her to make good choices, for courage and for forgiveness. I prayed for her life, that it would be healed. I prayed for her busted finger. I prayed for her heart, especially her heart. It is the only broken thing that can be healed from the inside out. “Today can be a new beginning, if you choose it.”


She had a tears in her eyes. I had nothing left to say. I stood up and sternly said to her, “Get up!”


“What?”


“Get up!” I said with a cheeky grin.


She arose. I wrapped my arms around her and hugged her. I embraced her long enough to let her feel the gravity of the words I had spoken.


I gave her a tenner for dinner, and I left. I believe I left her with the courage to begin again because there is hope.


There is always hope.