Is everything OK?

Oh, God, a young man just sidled up my my table in McDonalds and asked, in all seriousness, “Is everything alright with your meal, sir?” I was so surprised that I blurted out “Yes”, before I could frame a more logical response, such as “Well, it’s probably as good as I can expect for a meal that I’m eating off a tray”. I’m sitting at a table that’s screwed to the floor, in a ‘restaurant’ decorated in primary colours, and the last thing I want is a solicitous enquiry about the food. I eat fast, like a dog, because the whole experience is shameful. When the food is prepared on a production line, I’d rather not be asked for my opinion. I come for the loos, the free wifi… and reluctantly stay for the food…