Who Deserves a Break?

	Dorothy unwraps the paper around her cheese burger. “Ronald McDonald’s a genius,” she mumbles, rubbing her arthritic knuckles.
	“Who?” A woman sipping a Mocha Frappe topped with whipped cream stops at Dorothy’s table.
	Dorothy swallows, licking her cracked lips before whispering, “Not talking to you.”
	The woman shrugs, clumping away in black combat boots, while Dorothy admires her McValue Meal: a 100-percent beef burger with real processed American cheese. Ronald never serves square patties. Or beef with additives. Or burgers with goat cheese on Brioche buns. Just classic, affordable, complete meals with fries, pickles, ketchup, onions. On just her Social Security check, Dorothy can manage one McValue Meal per week, but not a fancy beverage like that woman had.
	She chews, remembering meeting Ronald years ago. Wearing a yellow suit, striped sleeves, red hair, white face paint, he offered Dorothy, a kindergartener then, a Strawberry shake sample. He winked at her. Ronald McDonald! And gave Dorothy and her mother free pink shakes in McDonald’s glass cups. To keep! Dorothy brought hers to school for Show-and-Tell the next day. Some kids giggled at her McDonald’s glass, but she treasured it, never drinking from it again, so it wouldn’t chip. 
	“Such a generous person!”
	A man in a navy suit and red tie approaches the security guard, pointing to Dorothy. “That old lady’s talking to herself.” 
	The guard shrugs. “Dorothy? She’s not hurting anyone.” 
	The man waves a baked apple pie at the guard. “I’m a paying customer!”
	“So’s she.” 
	“Everyone’s crazy,” the man grumbles, heading across the room. 
	Dorothy’s eyes follow him, but she’s still thinking about that special day, meeting Ronald plus a free treat beyond her budget. Savoring sips of strawberry sweetness from her childhood as she nibbles a fry from her shaking hand.
	Someone taps her. “Ronald?” she turns, expecting the red-headed clown. But it’s a girl wearing a shirt with the golden arches logo. 
	“It’s your lucky day, Dorothy! We’re celebrating the return of Pumpkin Spice latte! Want a sample?” 	
	Dorothy squints at the steaming creamy concoction. 	
	“Pumpkin with hints of cinnamon.” The girl extends a small paper cup.
	Dorothy grabs it, sips, sighs. It’s not strawberry. Ronald’s not here. And there’s no special glass. But it’s free. 
	The security guard accepts a cup too, calls out “Cheers,” and chugs the warm decadence in a gulp.
	Dorothy, though, takes tiny tastes; she’s going to enjoy this delicious moment for a long time.