On Theology

 

It seems appropriate that I would come up with this post just before Easter—the “holiest” weeks of the Christian calendar.  Since I am not Christian (actually, becoming more anti-Christian as time goes on and the right-wing juggernaut grows stronger and more outrageous) I’m not particularly concerned about whom this post might offend.

A few days ago, I sat in my production room, toiling away with NPR talking in the background.  The topic being discussed was the 10^th anniversary of the election of Pope Francis.  I haven’t been a Catholic for many, many years, but I find I’m still interested in hearing about what goes on in the Church. 

The discussion delved deeper and deeper into the politics and machinations of Catholicism.  The host brought on guests who dissected the pros and cons of Francis’ reign, viewing his policies against the backdrop of not only recent upheavals in Church status quo (RE: the resignation of Pope Benedict 10 years ago), but also in the light (or darkness) of two millennia of Church doctrine and dogma.  It was a fascinating and very scholarly discussion. 

A few days later, I came upon this article online: US Bishops Document Against Transgender Health Care a Disaster

When all was said and done, my first thought was to marvel at the complexity of Catholic dogma and tradition.  I suppose the world is fortunate that a religious tradition so given to high thought and scholarliness has had so much influence over the human race for a couple thousand years.  We are even now witnessing what can/will happen when a cult that demonizes education and conspires to keep the masses uneducated and afraid comes into ascendancy.  Imagine what the state of the world might be if today’s right-wing “Christian” ideology had been in the forefront since the days of their Christ.

 (And yet…the same hateful prejudice can be embraced whether it is explained away by citing an encyclical written by some esteemed Catholic scholar of the past, or cloaked in fire and brimstone from the pulpit of a right-wing evangelical pastor.  “God hates homosexuals.  Especially trans-sexuals.  They are all going to hell.”)

 My thought in the end, after taking in this barrage of Catholic scholarship, was:  They have taken an essentially simple concept—the relationship between the human race and the Creator of all things—and made it outrageously complex.  Two thousand years of layers and layers of complex.  Apparently, the function of “religion” is to first  shoebox the Creator of the Universe in terms explicable to humans (basically, create a “god”) and then fashion a conduit between “men” and that “god.”  And make sure the keepers of the conduit occupy extreme privileged status among humankind.

The concept put forth by religion is that “god” is so inscrutable and holy that normal, common people have no right to approach or seek relationship with the Almighty.  There needs to be some kind of go-between, some middle-man, or multi-layers of middle men,  that allows one to wave one’s arms and be noticed by the All-powerful.

Bunk.

Let’s face it:  Human beings have no clue about the character of a force powerful enough to have created a Universe so vast that our entire world is less than a speck of dust in the cosmos.  For the most part, we can’t even bear to consider how miniscule we actually are in the vastness of the universe.  SO much we don’t know….So much we don’t understand.  So much we don’t want to know.  But we don’t want to know that we don’t know.  We want to believe we really do know.  So we construct these complicated theologies and spiritual hierarchies to explain, and to some degree protect us from, what we don’t know.

For my part…

I just feel that the Almighty knows I’m here.  Why should a force powerful enough to create the universe not be capable or desirous of having relationship with individual forms of its creation?  Who are we to say It can’t?  Or wouldn’t? 

I feel noticed.  I feel cared for.  I feel connected to whatever aspect of the Spirit of Creation constitutes the relationship of the Creator to creation.  And I don’t need an intermediary to stand between me and the Spirit and plug me in. Neither thousands of years of theological debate, nor the demonization thereof, will affect or discourage my personal path to relationship with the Creator. 

And I can’t help but think that if more humans just bagged the whole religion thing and opened ourselves to relationship with the Spirit, the world would be much better off.      

A Restaurant Rant by Someone Who Used to Run One

 

Well, it happened again.  I read an article online that got my dander up and my rebuttal juices flowing.  

The article was posted by no less a hallowed hospitality industry publication than Bon Apetit magazine. And the subject?  Why banning kids from restaurants is an unpardonable sin.  In fact, some brilliant headline writer associated with the magazine came up with this gem: "If You Don't Want Kids in Restaurants, You Should Just Stay Home."

The writer, whom I can only assume is an entitled millennial of child-bearing age, maybe even with critters of her own, opines (or whines...which would be characteristic of the breed) that children belong in restaurants, as some sort of outgrowth of the "it takes a village" theory.  In her mind, the idea of "community" is so endangered in our society today that the entire dining public should take on the responsibility of reviving it by tolerating loud, obnoxious, undisciplined youngsters running all over any eating establishment upon whom  parents choose to inflict them. 

She posits that the very purpose of a restaurant is to be "a perfect place for parents to teach their kids how to be people around other people, and the perfect place to teach parents how to shepherd their kids through the world."  I suppose if this were true, it might even be valid.  But, increasingly, the experience of kids coming to restaurants is a matter of entitled millennial (or whatever generation) parents refusing to alter their lifestyle just because they chose to procreate.  They WILL continue to do whatever the hell they want, drag their children in tow, and the rest of the world not only needs to put up with it, but needs to take on the responsibility of "teaching their kids how to be people," because the parents are too busy socializing--either in person or on various hand-held media--to absorb lessons in "how to shepherd their kids through the world."  Let the staff and the other patrons take care of their kids.  It costs enough to eat out nowadays...isn't child care part of the package?

I am a member of the Baby Boom generation.  "Boom" as in, a lot of people had lots of kids in the twenty years following the end of World War II.  I was one of five children in our family.  That there was not enough money lying around to take a family of 7 to a restaurant in those days is entirely beside the point.  There was no way my parents were going to even attempt to keep us all in line long enough to sit down and eat a meal  like polite human beings in front of strangers.  They knew better.  We got treated to McDonalds, A & W, Dog 'n' Suds, & Tastee Freez, occasionally, and in those days, those places did not have indoor seating.  But, you know what?  We were thrilled with the treat. 

I--the youngest of the brood--was in junior high before I went into a sit-down restaurant with my parents.     

When we were little, a lot of my mother's large extended family were celebrating 50th wedding anniversaries, and some of the older offspring were getting married.  When children were included in the invitations to these receptions, we were basically threatened with death if we didn't stay in our seats, try to use the correct dishes and flatware, and behave ourselves during the meal.  We would never have thought about running around and disrupting the place as children do at restaurants now. And my parents would not have allowed it.

In the 21st century, there are dozens of restaurant chains specifically designed to cater to families and children.  Places like Chuck E. Cheese--or any pizza parlor, really--IHOP, Olive Garden, to name a few.  These did not even exist when I was a kid.  The industry saw a market niche and endeavored to appeal to it.  BUT...

Today's parents don't want to take their kids to a place where they actually belong.  Parents have rights.  They have the right to drag children to any place adults are welcome.  And they're by god going to do it, or shoot scathing "Yelp" reviews at any restaurant that even hints that noisy, bratty, undisciplined children might be an inconvenience or even a physical danger to the staff and the rest of the patrons.  

It occurred to me that I don't really know why I'm taking the time to write this essay...  We haven't eaten in a sit-down restaurant in three years.  And aren't likely to any time soon, unless the industry starts taking steps to make their dining rooms less breeding grounds for airborne infection.  (Which they could do...but won't.)  But, honestly, the tone of the Bon Apetit article, and particularly the headline, make me want to risk COVID just to demonstrate that I will not be told I should be excluded from the "community" of eating at restaurants because undisciplined, out-ot-control youngsters are going to take precedence over me. 

And they're going to bring their kids.

   

We Get the Leaders We Deserve?

Isn’t it almost impossible to believe that the same nation which elected Jimmy Carter to its highest office also bestowed that honor upon Donald Trump?  Not surprisingly, it seems the Carter presidency was the aberration, much as some of us would like to hope Trump’s was the step outside the norms of America’s political reality. We never deserved Jimmy Carter.  But Trump?  That’s another story.

And the fact that a good, decent, upright man like James Earl Carter is judged by our history as having been an abject failure as POTUS, really tells you all you need to know about the United States of America.  Doesn’t it?  

Good Morning

You know it’s going to be a good day when you see the ants floating in your cereal bowl before you take a big spoonful and shove it in your mouth…

Thoughts

 

A little over a month ago, I thought I had made a clear, well-reasoned decision about the fate of this blog.  But, as often happens in life, circumstances and events of the past 30 days or so have combined to change my mind.

The primary event was struggling through a bout of COVID, inflicted upon me--and the rest of the family--by my oldest sister.  In her infinite wisdom, and despite all kinds of media and official warnings to the contrary, she decided it would be just fine to have company at her house on Christmas morning.  Company who had just recovered from "some virus."  Company outside our safe little pod of family members who have been tying ourselves in knots to keep from contracting this thing.  She took the risk--without consulting the rest of us--and we paid the price.

Of course, she and my brother-in-law didn't come through this unscathed.  BIL was so sick he ended up in the hospital for three days.  BIL suffers from Lewy Body dementia.  Sister is such a control freak that she will not allow him out of her sight for more than an hour or two at a time.  SHE spent the entire three days, save a couple of hours to run home and shower, camped out on a recliner in his hospital room.  It was not an easy time for her by any means.

But for me, it has also been tough.  I was not sick unto death or anything, but I felt like crap for over two weeks.  And I'm  really, really irritated about the entire situation. I feel like an asshole for being mad at my sister for getting me sick, but I just can't get past it, and that makes everything worse.  I honestly feel like a trust was violated.  I am trying to juggle "get over it," with acknowledging my feelings, and yearning for them to be validated by someone.  Anyone.

Because here's the thing about my family.  We don't go there.  To the world, we would be thought of as "close."  We all live within a few minutes' walk or drive from each other. We hang out together.   A lot.  We value our family connection, and we even love each other.  But we do not share emotions on any level.  My father was a very private, buttoned-up person.  He was a very good man, but he just didn't open up emotionally to anyone.  Ever.  And, unfortunately, he passed that trait down to all of his daughters.  Which has been...not a good thing.  We have learned to "cope" with emotional issues in a myriad of unhealthy ways.  Some of us are just good old-fashioned "stuffers."  Some of us spend our lives skating across the surface, never venturing deep enough to encounter difficult emotions.  Some of us stuff or skate until we explode. Some of us self-medicate. 

I have struggled for years to acknowledge feelings and deal with them in a healthy way.  A basic tenet of my theory has been to try and bring things out into the open and deal with them.  It seems to me that letting things fester never does any good for anybody.  But, let's just say, especially within my family, this idea has crashed and burned spectacularly.  

So I've yearned for someone to talk to.  Someone to share my deepest sadness and greatest joy.  My family is not it.  Has never been it.  I had a "best friend" with whom I shared over twenty years of my life.  She was not it, either.  

Imagine having a "friendship" that lasted over two decades, yet involved no emotional bond.  I think about that sometimes, and I think, "What the hell were we doing?"

The closest I ever came to making that kind of connection with other human beings was...yeah, you guessed it.  The early days of AOL Journals.  It seemed to me that I had landed smack in the middle of something I had yearned for all the prior 48 years of my life--an emotional and intellectual connection to...people.   Of course, we now know I was utterly mistaken about that connection...indeed, whether there was ever a connection at all.  Still...fifteen years beyond the collapse of that balloon--whether it was all in my head, or not--I'm still mourning its demise.  That's how much it meant to me, back in the day.

And so, "Coming to Terms" has continued on, unplugged from humanity for at least the past fifteen years.  And yet, I still come here.  Do I merely haunt this place in lonely yearning for something long gone?  Or has this blog served a purpose for me all these years?

It took this time of reflection and pulling away from my family to realize that, yes.  "Coming to Terms" does serve a real and continuing purpose in my life.  It may not be the place I come to communicate with other people.  But it has been, and continues to be, the place where I can come with all the things that I don't/can't share with anyone in my life.

The reason that my writing has "sucked" over the past many years is that I'm not communicating with anyone.  But this "crappy" writing that I've splattered here is still the story of my life.  It's still words and thoughts that need to be put...somewhere...in order to try to make sense of them.  

"Coming to Terms" is my somewhere.

So we will speak no more about letting it go because it no longer serves.

Of course it serves.  And will keep on serving. Me.   For some time, at least. 

 

Never, Never, NEVER Forget

 JANUARY 6, 2020

The day a power-mad despot and his minions very nearly succeeded in ending “The Great Experiment.”

We're so fond of “never forgetting” foreign attacks on our nation, 

But THIS is the one we should never, ever forget.

This is what Abraham Lincoln actually DID say about the eventual destruction of our republic:

“At what point then is the approach of danger to be expected? I answer, if it ever reach us, it must spring up amongst us. It cannot come from abroad. If destruction be our lot, we must ourselves be its author and finisher. As a nation of freemen, we must live through all time, or die by suicide.”

Sneaking In at the Last Minute

 

#6--Solstice Revelations

 

Good lord...

I rolled out a "10 things" with an eye toward kick-starting myself into finishing out the year with a flurry of essays.

AND...

My last post was over a month ago.

In fact, I have just two days left of 2022 to post...anything.

The Solstice has come and gone.  I dutifully inscribed little scraps of paper with "things that no longer serve," and incinerated them in my Solstice Fire.  We'll see where that all goes in the coming year.

In the meantime, the Universe has been nudging me toward the realization that there are some things that no longer serve which I have not been inclined to acknowledge.  Things that are so big and have been a part of my life for so long that it will actually be very difficult to let them go, though they do indeed no longer serve.

One of those things is my business--the thing which kept me going and gave me purpose during some very difficult years.  For more than twenty years, it's been the scrap of floating debris that's kept my head above water through some pretty rough surf.  But now, with our move to Eugene offering us fewer accessible market opportunities, and the Scandinavian Festival becoming a challenge which my ancient work-force has aged out of...it's probably time to close it down.  Not only will that be tough emotionally, but the sheer volume of stuff we'll have to liquidate is a daunting and exhausting thought.

There is one other dear and important thing that has outlived its usefulness in my life, and will have to be put to bed:

This blog.

I'll have to finally acknowledge that the loss of readers and feedback has destroyed my desire to come here and write.  

I came to that realization recently, when I sat and read, as I sometimes do, some of my old essays.  From the old AOL days, and even a bit beyond, when I still had people who came here and left evidence that they had been.  

My writing was GOOD then.  I became a better writer than I had ever thought possible.  Creative.  Clear.  Concise.  

Because I was talking to somebody.

And they were talking back.

"Coming to Terms..." is not that anymore.  And it hasn't been for a very long time.  When I look at the (mostly) crap I've written in the past few years...not only is it infrequent, it's just not very good.  It's not even close to the caliber of stuff I was putting out years ago.  Even when I was losing my sanity trying to play entrepreneur, I could write decent and interesting stuff.

Not anymore.   

I've kept coming here because I thought this would be the corner of "social media" that I could stomach.  Not ugly.  not contentious. "My little corner of the internet."

But it's not social here.  It's just...dead quiet.  

And putting thoughts here is really no better than letting them rattle around in my head.

In September of 2023, this blog will turn 20 years old.  

I'll try to continue to write here until then.  Or at least post photos, or something.  But I think the handwriting is on the wall for "Coming to Terms..."  I'll take the next nine months to wrap up 20 years of...whatever this is.

And, who knows?  Maybe something better, more fitting to my current life, will take its place.

The Universe has so far been very good about providing appropriate replacements when it finally pries my hands off something that no longer serves.

I'm looking forward to finding out what The Universe will find for me this time.  

 

 

#5--The Guardian

 

5.)  My determination to write this post has once again thrown a monkey wrench into my mojo.  It’s relatively simple to throw together an essay about external things…things that happen, things I have a strong opinion about.  But this one…this is something that is intensely personal.  So much so that I find it nearly impossible to frame it in a way that would make sense to anyone outside myself.  I am acutely aware that it might come off as delusional, ignorant drivel.

Anyone who has followed this blog for any length of time is aware of my path of spirituality.  It doesn’t have a name, it isn’t anyone’s religion.  I suppose it’s fine to belong to a spiritual community, but I just…don’t feel the need.  “Churches” tend to create rules defining the “right” ways and the “wrong” ways to conduct a relationship with the Almighty.  I can’t subscribe to that.  The Creator of the Universe is obviously a vast, creative, diverse entity.  Who am I, who is anybody, to attempt to define, and in doing so, limit the Creator to a size and character that we poor humans can understand?

People sometimes do eventually figure out that “God” is not the big guy in the sky who is everything human beings are, only bigger and badder—the ultimate extreme human.  Unfortunately, this tends to turn many formerly religious folks into atheists.  The logic is that if “God” isn’t what they’ve always been led to believe, then “God” doesn’t exist at all.  I just find that…incredibly sad. 

I figured out years ago that god wasn’t necessarily what any religion paints god to be.  But, rather than concluding that god doesn’t exist, it seemed reasonable to believe that our perception of the Creator of the Universe was so limited as to be erroneous.   Not to mention able to be twisted into a tool used to enrich certain human beings at the expense of others, which seems to be the chief function of religion in our world.

The part where I think other people might find it hard to follow me is this: While I claim to understand that the Creator is too vast and complex for our minds to truly grasp, I still believe that the creative energy that IS the Almighty encourages a personal connection to it.  Why does “God” have to be human in order to welcome a connection to individual people?  To make that claim would be to again place a limit on a limitless power.  If my spirituality has one rule, it is to never place limits on the power of the Almighty.

This all leads me to the subject of this post:

The Guardian.

 Once I walked away from traditional religion, I gradually became aware the Universe encouraged a connection with me.  I will admit my relationship to that connection has run hot and cold over the years.  There are times when a relationship with something beyond ourselves, something that cannot be seen or heard or touched, seems so remote as to be impossible.  It isn’t always easy to believe.  In religious circles, they often call this a “crisis of faith.”

My spiritual journey has progressed to the place where I am convinced that not only is the Creator connected to me…it watches over me.  I suppose this concept has been understood by religion for centuries.  There are guardian angels, patron saints, familiars, spirit guides…  All based on the idea that the Creator provides protection and guidance.  As I have walked my spiritual path, turned toward and sometimes away from the Creator for a time, I’ve gradually become aware that I have received benevolent protection and guidance for years, in such a form that is, for me, indisputable evidence that not only does the Almighty exist, but the Almighty has forged and maintains a connection to me personally.  Pretty heady stuff.

At no time has this been more evident than the past few pandemic-ridden years.  It has been quite a journey, and I have felt undeniably blessed and protected since it began, and even before.

In 2018, a full two years before COVID was upon us, I became convinced that the time had come for our little household to strip down, shed debt and move back “home” to my family.  It’s not like an angel came to me in a dream or anything.  I just decided, “NOW is the time.”  I thought I was setting us up for retirement.  And I set about to make it happen.  By early 2019, all was accomplished.

Less than a year later, the pandemic struck.  In August of 2020, the place where the husband had worked for over 25 years shut its doors…he was out of work.  But since we had shed $1400 a month debt service and were living in Eugene in a house with no mortgage, we were prepared.  We had meticulously set ourselves up to weather a disaster that nobody had any idea was going to happen.

Unemployment and government COVID benefits were sufficient to meet our finacancial needs (and then some.)  When unemployment ran out, husband landed a job that coincidentally (?) brought in almost exactly the income he was receiving from unemployment.  We applied for and obtained a huge government grant to keep our small business afloat when it was sidelined for 2 years by COVID.  Sure, we had to participate in our own survival.  But it was almost ridiculously easy to slide from one benefit to the next...when one thing ran out, another opportunity popped up.  Almost like it was planned.   

How to explain that?

All that time when I was almost crazy with anxiety about the specter of illness and death, the one thing I did NOT have to worry about was our financial well-being.  I didn’t have to stress about how to keep a roof over our heads or food on the table.  It was taken care of.  By a power far beyond myself.   

And, honestly, I understood that to be the case.  We have been protected and provided for during this whole thing.

And now that the time of fear is mostly over, lest I take for granted that the Creator holds us in the palm of its hand, I daily discover instances where I know I am being protected and guided.

Gradually, I’ve felt inspired to name the aspect of the Almighty that has watched over us and kept us from disaster. 

I call it the Guardian.  

The Guardian who has walked beside me, protected me under its wing, for years, unseen.

And I am grateful.  Every day. 

 

 

#4--Service!

4.)  Let's face it: those who control the lion's share of the wealth in the US have done a fine job of hauling the country back to the conditions present in the infancy of the industrial revolution--when workers were damn-near slaves to the business moguls who controlled nearly every aspect of their lives.  You lived in company housing.  You bought your food at the company store.  The aim, I assume, was the same as it is now: for the rich to get richer on the backs of the people who made them rich, and with whom they would be damned if they would share the spoils.  Sure, industry had to pay people to work...slavery was illegal.  But industry was intent on getting every penny they paid out in wages--plus more--back from the workers who toiled in the factories.  This, of course, led to the birth of the Labor Movement.  For all their boogers and warts, we should never forget that unions were born to advance workers' interests, hold wealthy employers accountable and generally force them to share the spoils of success with their employees.   

Fast forward to the second decade of the 21st century (almost 150 years, for gods sake!)  The factory jobs that had ultimately been forced to provide living wages to generations of Americans have been shipped overseas, where workers will toil for a fraction of the cost of American labor.  This has created our crappy "consumer economy," where 70% of jobs available are in the service industry.  Service jobs were once the bailiwick of students and second-income "housewives."  In 21st-century America, they've been elevated to the status of primary income for many Americans.

To add insult to this injury, or perhaps to facilitate this injury, the US labor movement is MIA.  After a century and a half of constant battle against the forces of the rich and powerful (who have steadily striven to set up our government to favor the rich and powerful), the union movement is, if not certifiably dead, then definitely on life support. And the propaganda efforts of the rich and powerful have been so successful, they have convinced struggling Americans to vote against their own interests,  guaranteeing the wealthy a lock on power.  As if that were not enough, Mr. and Mrs. Average American have been encouraged to viciously vilify anyone they perceive to be below them on the economic food chain.  "Service job isn't paying you enough?  Go to school, get an education and get a real job!"  As if that avenue to climbing out of poverty still existed in "the land of opportunity." 

And because these are the only jobs available, service people have been subjected to the most diabolical treatment by the industries whose pockets they toil to line.  Crappy wages.  No regular schedules.  No insurance coverage.  No guarantee of hours.  No vacation pay.  American workers have been forced to give up every hard-won benefit secured for them by the labor movement in the last century.  Workers are "lucky to have jobs."  You don't like your job?  We'll get rid of you and hire some other poor schlub to take your place.  It doesn't matter to us.  YOU don't matter to us. 

Workers had little choice but to tolerate such treatment, if they wanted to keep roofs over their heads and food on the table.  Which, in any case, they could not do without government assistance, even if they DID value their jobs.   

And then came COVID.

Poorly paid, unappreciated service employees suddenly became "front line workers."  And the only reward that came with that appellation was the title itself.  Little pay increase, if any at all.  No additional medical benefits, no additional sick time.  In addition, management did nothing to protect workers from rude, violent, entitled customers who took out their frustrations about COVID restrictions on the poor overworked peons behind the counters.

At one point, early on in the pandemic, the government actually paid people to not work.  

Which, unfortunately for the businesses that have for decades depended upon exploitative labor practices to line the pockets of the rich, gave workers a chance to see what life would be like if they were NOT chained to jobs where they were treated like worthless crap.  

And, guess what?  They rebelled.

They used the short breather they were given by the government to take stock of their lives...and legions of under-appreciated service workers decided NOT to ever go back to the jobs that made their lives more miserable than tolerable.  

Surprise!

Suddenly, the service industry had to swallow hard and deep, and start offering incentives to get people to stand behind their counters.  Signing bonuses.  Increased wages.  Health benefits.  

And, of course, the price of fast food has skyrocketed in order to cover the cost.

But, you know what? 

I am more than willing to pay people a decent living wage to flip burgers and fry fries.  Back in the olden days, just after the dinosaurs became extinct, my husband and I bought a home and two new cars on service worker salaries. People should be able to work in the service sector and make a decent living.  

Now, we are retirees; we don’t have a lot of extra money, but we do have enough money to eat out a couple of times a week. And due to COVID, we haven't seen the inside of a sit-down restaurant in almost three years.  So it's fast-food drive-ups or carry-out all the way.  And I'm okay with that.  If I have to spend $18 or $20 on a meal at McDonald's, just so the workers can pay their rent, I'm fine with that.  

But...and there is always a but.  And I'm sure this part is not going to get the nods of agreement from liberal readers that perhaps the rest of this post has inspired.

If I'm going to pay more for my meal because fast food workers need to make a living wage, then fast food workers need to be retrained to prepare the food the way it should be.  They need to care about the product they turn out.  If you’re going to serve me a cheeseburger, melt the damn cheese. Assemble the sandwich so that when I unwrap it, it’s still standing in a straight-ish column, not so that everything is sliding off one side of the bun. Don’t blob all the condiments in the center. And how about making sure the fries are hot when they go into the bag?  I don't expect fast food chains to spend a lot of dough to "improve" their product. The product is just fine, if it's prepared with a little bit of care.  Invest the money in well-trained, service-minded staff, people who might be inspired to take a few extra seconds to actually think about and take pride in what they're doing. Perhaps even to make it how they would like to eat it. 

I spent most of my working life making food, much of it fast. So I know it can be done.

Of course, in order to get the employees to care about their product, the employers need to show they care about their workers.

And perhaps that is where this whole thing falls apart.

For now, anyway.

But I have a feeling that's going to change.  Because it has to, if companies intend to survive in the pandemic-altered landscape of the American service industry.  

We shall see.