It's been a tradition among many cultures throughout the ages to hallmark the passage from childhood to becoming a mature member of society; a rite of passage that takes on many forms, but all having the common purpose of easing the transition from the innocence of youth to the sometimes harsh reality of the world in which they will come to live. In some societies, this may take the form of a religious ceremony, a catechism or confirmation, a type of vision quest, or it could be as simple as a small celebration amongst a handful of friends and family members.
As The Good Book says in 1 Corinthians 13:11, "When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things."
At some point in our lives, be it serendipitous or deliberate, we all come to a chasm over which we must cast ourselves into the next phase of life.
Just as the young Lakota boy is sent off into the wilderness to commune with the elements and thereby find his purpose in life, emerging days later as a man and warrior, so too did I follow this lead in my own life while a sophomore in college. Except I didn't wander the vast wilderness and deprive myself of food and water in order to conjure up a mystical guiding spirit who would show me the path to enlightenment. No, my spirit wasn't a buffalo or elk or woodchuck. It was a clown. Ronald McDonald, to be exact.
At the start of my sophomore year of college, I began working at a McDonald's in Iowa City. To this day, I don't know why I applied there. There wasn't anything particularly appealing about flipping burgers and I certainly had no intention of eking out a career in the fast-food industry. Nonetheless, I worked there for three months and during that time, I came to understand my purpose in life. Or, more specifically, what I didn't want it to be.
Working in fast-food taught me just what petty, obnoxious slobs people can be.
I'll never quite understand how it is someone -ANYONE- can walk into a McDonald's and stare at the menu trying to figure out what they want to order. Unless you're from another planet, or some fundamentalist Muslim country, everyone knows what they serve at McDonald's. Still, you'd be surprised at how many people will stand there, usually holding up a line of customers behind them, tapping a finger against their chin as they casually pondered the merits of the gastronomic slop and gruel before them.
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