Making Room

By Leah Mayes
The Portland Upside
May 2009

One night last week I found myself in one of Portland’s finest, a watering hole filled up and down with characters. After ordering a drink and settling into my seat, I nodded “hello” to my neighboring bar fly. Seeing no one with whom I might have common interests, I decided to sit a while, observing the evening’s goings-on.

The man holding down the stool next to me appeared to be a good ol’ boy, complete with button-down shirt, hat, boots, jeans and an affinity for Pabst Blue Ribbon. Lo and behold, our conversation turned first to what we do for a living.

“I am a chef,” I said. “I love to cook. I have studied nutrition for the last seven years and I must admit to being a food snob at times. I specialize in organic cooking with an attention to vegan and vegetarian cuisine. How about you, cowboy?”

“Well,” he said, “I sell hamburgers. Flip um, sell um, all my life.”

I smiled. Turns out this good ol’ boy owns and operates two local McDonald’s eateries. I smiled again and I think I might have nodded, but rest assured, I wasn’t quite sure what to say next. My mind teetered between an urge to launch into a spiel about childhood diabetes on the rise, heart disease, and bad cholesterol (“Oh, by the way, did you see “Super Size Me?”) and an equally strong desire to politely excuse myself to find other conversation. In the end, I decided to just stay and listen. After all, I’d never met an owner of a McDonald’s. I figured this could be interesting and I might just get some dirt for my next nutrition speech.

Portly, bordering on the short side, good color in his cheeks, my side-kick appeared well-shaven and eager to make a friend. I found out that in addition to owning restaurants, this man loves to farm. He described plowing his fields on a tractor, on a sweet summer day in the sun, the wind blowing the tall grass around like waves. He smiled a lot. I felt that to him farming was a meditation.

I have no idea if this man was wealthy but in truth he seemed very humble. He spoke of working for McDonald’s his entire life, how the company has helped him make a family and take care of them. He honestly proclaimed his support for the intelligence behind the corporation, its ever-changing ability to keep up with what the public demands, the many employees he has supported through regular employment.

When I asked about quality, he talked of changed ingredients, additional menu items and lowering the fat content to help support healthier choices. Then with a flurry of one-liners gained from numerous team-building seminars, memorized every morning in the mirror, my well-shaven friend announced his excitement for life, the need to keep busy, a passion to succeed with his goals. He talked about not watching TV or movies, not wasting his precious time, time better spent improving himself and his life. He was impressive with his drive and appreciation, his smile and honest-to-goodness simplicity; a genuine man, living his life as he sees fit, taking his own path to the American, rags-to-riches dream; all held in the hands of a clown and supported by the Golden Arches. Over four billion served.

Served willingly, many would argue, and they have a good point. People living off the street stumble in when they find a buck; people walk in way too many times because they can’t stop themselves; people eat fast food just because it is easy.

This man and I had little in common. I could have argued left and right about the quality of meat he serves, the treatment of the cows his company slaughters, the robbery of American nutrition and much more. But I didn’t. Instead I noticed that we represented two opposite ends of the spectrum, sitting together reminiscing about what a field of tall grass looks like in the wind.

Some things are beautiful even if we don’t agree with them or understand them. Some things just are. Although I think we should fight for what we believe in, this time I didn’t feel the need to fight. I felt recognition for this man just as he is: a man, living his life, making choices. And though I myself would not choose the same, here we were making room for each other over a tall glass of cold beer. And that is an upside.


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