The scene: the near future. The setting: a popular fast-food restaurant. The time: lunch.
“Hi, I’d like a number 3, with a large Coke, and mega-size it, please.”
“‘I’m sorry sir, we don’t mega-size our meals anymore.”
“Really? Huh. Okay, just give me another large fry.”
“I can’t do that either, sir. Frankly, you don’t need it.”
“Excuse me?”
“Could you turn around for a moment, sir? Thank you. Hmm. No, I’d say a small fry is all you need. Better hold the cheese on the burger, too.”
“Are you saying I’m fat?”
“Your hips are saying that, sir. I’m just saying that it would be irresponsible of me to sell you a large order of fries, especially with your high blood pressure.”
“Why, you little… What makes you think I have high blood pressure?”
“Your face flushed awfully quickly, sir. Personally I’d diagnose malignant hypertension, but I’m still in training. We can do the test here if you like, with our new HappyScan booth. Right over there, see? The clown’s mouth is a sphygmomanometer. Bring back the results and win a free hash brown! Unless it’s too high, of course.”
“When did you become so solicitous of my health?”
“When people started suing fast-food companies for their obesity and other dietary-related health disorders. Turns out our advertising was just too powerful, sir. It overrode the public’s natural preference for wholesome food and forced them, zombie-like, to gobble our evil, fat-dripping products entirely against their will.”
“Is that why you changed your slogan to ‘Put It Down, Fatty’?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Catchy jingle, though.”
“You see? Even when we’re honest we can’t keep people away, no matter how many nutritional flyers we give out. We even tried hiring rude counter help and serving cold, stale food with visible insect parts, and still there were billions served. And when we did try offering healthier items, our low-calorie food had too many carbs, or our low-carb food had too many calories, and no one bought the salads unless we poured fat over them. And then they sued us anyway. We can’t let you do this to yourselves any longer, sir.”
“But I’m starving! Can’t I sign a waiver or something?”
“I’m sorry, we can’t run the risk of more litigation. You might try our ‘Ring for a Ring’ promotion.”
“What’s that?”
“You give me your car keys and jog around the building. For every lap you get another onion ring.”
“Is that what those people were doing? I thought they were hunting for the drive-thru.”
“We removed it, sir. Customers now have to get their lazy butts out of their cars and actually walk in to be served. We’re thinking about removing our parking lot as well. Here’s your order, sir.”
“You realize that’s… hey! What is this?”
“Your order, sir. A soybean-Brazil nut burger with soy sauce, Vegan yeast cheese and a beet slice on a sodium-free, multi-grain bun, a small order of our new oven-baked French fries seasoned with unrefined sea salt, and a small Coke. The Funtime Deluxe.”
“Why is the Coke clear?”
“That’s the new ‘Coke Smart,’ sir. No calories, no carbohydrates, no caffeine, no sugar.”
“You mean it’s water.”
“With electrolytes and potassium added, sir. Plus it comes with a bendy straw.”
“I don’t believe this. You can’t tell me what to eat! I’ll sue!”
“Of course, sir. You’ll find that the tray liner under your meal is a handy blank lawsuit. Anything you feel you can’t take responsibility for, just write it in the space provided and drop it in the box by the door.”
“This is insane!”
“I’m sorry for any inconvenience, but I think you’ll find that all fast-food chains will be doing the same thing very soon. And sir?”
“What?”
“Have a nice day.”