Drive Thru
A fictional tale inspired by a photo I had taken of a burned McDonalds I had made about ten years ago.
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File Number: 43423423_29_1
Recording Number 203322222_342_343_pm mcdonalds_arson
TRANSCRIPT OF INTERVIEW OF Doctor Joseph Sipnassy with Detective Steve Henry:
Whereupon, the following proceedings were had in Bartlesville Police Department on October 14, 2009, and were transcribed.
Detective Henry: Doctor. You drove 1200 miles south so that you could burn down a McDonald’s. Is that correct?
Joseph Sipnassy: Yes.
DH: And you have never been arrested? Never been in trouble with the law? Not even a speeding ticket. You’re a surgeon at the Mayo clinic? Why?
JP: I had no choice.
DH: Of course, you did.
JP: I did not. I had a damn drive-thru speaker patched into my brain at 130 decimals. Every order at that damn McDonalds replayed in my head. Every damn word – Quarter Pounder, Big Mag, Sundae, Large Coke. Every. Single. Order. What would you have done?
DH: You’re a surgeon. You could have bought the place.
JP: Do you know what a McDonald’s franchise costs? The lady had no interest in selling. I hate McDonald’s. I teach about the dangers of fast food. I see it on my operating table.
DH: There we go. Motive. Hate.
(Noting: accused is shaking his head ‘no’)
DH: I would have got some professional help. Pills. Drugs.
JP: You think I didn’t try that. I work with the best. Nobody believed me. They’re not trained to believe the impossible. And pills did nothing but make it worse.
DH: I believe you only because what you did was so random what else can I think? But come on there’s gotta be a scientific explanation? Wifi? Radio wave?
JP: No. There is nothing to send radio waves from a Carolina speaker to my brain.
DH: Prank?
JP: Who is pranking me? God?
DH: Okay? So let’s figure this out.
JP: I confessed already.
DH: But I’m curious. When did this start?
JP: Six months ago. April.
DH: How did you figure out which speaker tapped into your head? Which McDonald’s
JP: Narrowed it down using what I knew. It was open 24 hours, and the people talked funny.
DH: We talk funny? Ever seen Fargo Doc? Okay, so you narrowed it down to one location. The one on Daniels Boulevard. Then what?
JP: I went inside. Guess you’d call it casing the joint. I had coffee and watched them. And what the people working the window said replayed in my head in real-time. But louder. I tried to figure it out. I went out and looked at the equipment at the drive-thru.
DH: Looked? They got video of someone taking a sledgehammer to their equipment.
JP: Yeah, that was me. Thought I’d get away with it and the whole mess would be over.
DH: You did. Why didn’t you go home?
JP: I tried. They fixed the equipment the next day. Replaced the whole damn board with new machines. I was halfway home, a day’s drive when I heard it. Test. Test. Test. You’re good to go. Then the ordering started back up again.
DH: And you turned the car around?
JP: I did. I swear the voices were louder. Clearer. They weren’t telling me what to do. They didn’t ask me to burn the place down. It was just a list of shitty, fatty food over and over and over. Please drive around. Please drive around. It was maddening. I returned to the location at three the morning with a much darker mindset. Inside, there was one customer. Three employees. I went in with twenty gallons of gasoline. I told them to get the hell out and run as far away as possible. I dumped out all their fry oil. I dumped all the gasoline. The place burned fast. So fast, I almost didn’t make it out.
DH: When I pulled up, you were dancing the jig in the middle of the road.
JP: I was. The silence was music to my ears.
DH: You know they’ll rebuild. They probably already have crews working. You can’t stop McDonald’s.
JP: It won’t be tomorrow. It won’t be next week. I’ll take a month of silence. Maybe the drive-thru will come back to my head at all. But no matter what, I’ll have one month without McDonald’s ruining my life.
Case note: Moments after this recording, Dr. Sipnassy suffered a life-threatening heart attack outside the interrogation room. It occured upon seeing a representative of the Ronald McDonald House on hand to pick up a donation check and take photos with officers. The reprentative dressed as the clown, Ronald McDonald, will not be charged.
Christopher lives in Vermont with his wife, twin boys, border collie and corgi. He has owned a film production company, sold slot machines, and worked for Tony Robbins. He writes in his magical tiny house and sometimes writes in his blog at chrisrodgers.blog
Visit his author’s page.