"WE CARE! YOUR OPINIONS ARE IMPORTANT TO US!

PLEASE FILL OUT OUR COMMENT CARDS AND HELP US TO IMPROVE OUR SERVICE!

WE CARE! YOUR OPINIONS ARE IMPORTANT TO US!"

* * *

"Bush Sucks! (George W., that is.)"

"Can you add horse radish to your little tray of condiments? I like it on my fries."

"Gore Sucks! (Al, that is.) (Tipper, too.)"

"How nice that you care. I don't really have anything else to say, just that it's nice to know, in this day and age, that someone cares."

"Please think about using a lower-sodium salt in your food, as some of us are supposed to be on low-sodium diets."

"I hope that you are happy, whoever you are that reads this, that you are happy that you are probably spreading Mad Cow Disease to millions of people. Killer! Spreader of Brain Debilitating Disease!"

"Still nothing to say, really, just still tremendously impressed that you care. You must be a very nice person from a caring family. God bless you."

"help - kidnapped - call police - he has gun"

"John 3:16."

"I've clipped my card on the back of this. From what I can see of your kitchen area, you need my services. No bug too big."

"Your foods grate. Eat here all the time. Your all like family to me. Love you guys. Specially the chick with the hooters."

"Me again. I'm afraid I'm having one of those days I sometimes have, feeling a little down and depressed. Knowing that you care helps. Thank you."

"Have you thought about expanding your menu, like with pizza or tacos or chop suey? Or Italian? Cause your burgers stink. Decent B+ onion rings."

"More chicks with big hooters."

"Can you tell the really cute guy with the mustache that me and my girl friend are hot for his bod?"

"I'm back. Another day of 'what I got they used to call the blues.' That's from a Carpenters song. Do you know the Carpenters, or were they before your time? Very nice, cleancut Christian brother and sister singing act (she also played the drums sometimes, which I don't think girls usually do). (Not that they shouldn't). Karen (that was the sister, Richard was the brother's name) died young, from not eating. Well, that won't happen to me, of that you can be sure. But it was very sad when it happened, because she really had such a lovely voice - very creamy and soothing. I've heard people have anorexia and bulimia and all that because they're depressed, and I'm feeling depressed, but I"

"If you really cared, you'd provide more space on these cards! (Just joking). Anyway, and I'm feeling depressed, but I'm not in any danger of dying from not eating. Fat chance - ha ha! (If you could see me, you'd appreciate how funny that is). Maybe you can see me, maybe you're watching right now as I sit here, a dangerously overweight woman in a dress which doesn't flatter her because once you reach a certain point, weightwise, nothing flatters you, as I sit here with a tray overflowing with crumpled burger wrappers and french fry containers and an empty strawberry shake cup (super size), a lot of food even for me and a sure sign that I'm feeling depressed. When I eat, when I'm actually eating and for a few brief minutes after, I feel good. Not good, exactly, but comforted. But then, a few minutes later"

"MAIN STREET TIGERS RULE, MAN! RUUUUUUUUUUUULE - ON YOU!!!"

"I'm going to have to start writing really small. A few minutes later, I feel worse, because I still feel depressed about whatever I was depressed about before, plus I feel depressed because I've just made myself even fatter. I wonder if you can understand this. I wonder who you even are that reads this. Are you the young man with the sweet little cherub face that any mother would love? Or the manager (or the guy I assume is the manager, anyway), the thirty-ish man with the exotic hued skin and the sideburns and the (what my sister calls) mambo hips? What if you are the young man with the sullen eyes of whom I used to be slightly fearful until I heard you laughing one rare day and realized your sullenness was only your way of defending yourself against hurt and cruelty, was only your version of eating to forget? Maybe I don't even know you (not that I 'know' anybody who works here - not that there are really many people at all that I could really say I 'know'). Maybe you work in the back, away from my view, or work at a time when I'm never here, or maybe even work offsite altogether."

"How many burgers would I have to buy before the girl with the 'Stacy' nametag would sit on my face?"

"CALL POLICE"

"French fries should be hot and NOT SOGGY. Otherwise, what's the point? Grow up!"

"Save a life. Kill an abortionist."

"I go to the men's room to whiz, not to read ads."

"I guess I've taken up enough of your time - if you've bothered to read these instead of just tossing them into the trash as the ravings of some lunatic woman. But I'm not a lunatic. I'm just fat and depressed and should probably be ashamed of myself, wasting your comment cards like this. I'm sure they're not expensive, but they do cost SOMETHING and it's not my money. But I am feeling better now. Thank you."

"Hooters! Hooooooooooooters!"

"My bun was stale."

"I'm not really feeling better. I lied when I said I was, and I hate to lie. Sorry."

"Could you please get catsup packets instead of ketch-up? Thanks."

"My comment is that you should probably pay your staff more. Do they even make minimum? And they work around hot grease, an accident waiting to happen. Fast food workers of the world unite! Break your chains! Stop being part of the food chain for fast food chains! (I bet you don't have the guts to show this to your workers, do you? Pig!)"

"Potato salad, three-bean salad, carrot-and-raisin salad, German potato salad, egg salad. And more salt."

"I still think ROCKY IV was better than ROCKY III."

"21 or older for alcohol sucks."

"I wanted to apologize for the cards I left the other day. Sometimes the depression gets to be too much for me. I'm not really as desperate or pathetic as all that - although I am as fat - something I can write anonymously to you but could never admit face-to-face. The reasons why I am (fat, that is - but also depressed, etc., it's probably all the same) are not simple. I don't even really know what they are, though sometimes late at night, when I'm just lying in bed with a softly glowing clockface the closest thing I have to a companion, sometimes then I have a vague understanding. But it never crystallizes and what I do comprehend never really stays with me into the morning, and who has time during the day for worrying about such nonsense? (Truth to tell, I do, but if I concentrated on it during the time of day that is supposed to be devoted to productive activities I'd be owning up to just how alone I truly am). I can't really blame my parents, as is the fashion to do. They're both normal people - normal size, normal happiness, normal worries, normal scope of vision. Even if it"

"Even if it were their fault, if something he did to me or something in her tone of voice or way she looked at me were somehow responsible for my excessive weight and excessive problems (which are not all caused by my weight, but which do seem to center around it somehow, as if my weight were the star at the center of my solar system around which the planets "Worry" and "Anxiety" and "Insecurity" and all the others orbited), even if this were the case, whatever they did they did out of love, or caring at least. I really can't say love, because I don't know if love exists, I don't know if I've ever been loved by anyone or loved anyone myself, but I know that I have cared for others, and in the end isn't that what matters? Is it so important to say, "I was loved by someone," even if that someone frequently did things that made you sad or angry or mournful? Maybe, over the long run, the highs your "loving" one made you experience were so high that they made up for the lows, even if the lows may have been more frequent, and maybe that love somehow"

"What kind of SATs do you have to have for the Electoral College? (Must be pretty low)."

"Hip-Hop lames."

"Did make you feel whole and complete, did manage to quench the terrible, horrible longing and loneliness that threatened to devour you, that started deep inside you and began nibbling and then gulping its way out, eating away more and more of you. Maybe his love (or her love) did somehow stop that, maybe even filled in the parts that were eaten before you met him or her. Is it worth it when that person's love also causes more hurt that you otherwise wouldn't have had? Is it still more important than being with someone who just cares for (but doesn't love) you, even if that caring is polite, and maybe only stops part of the devouring monster inside? Someone who cares may not be able to stop the pain, but he won't cause more of it, and his caring help will deaden it or ease it. Daddy may not have loved Mommy, but he was careful with her fragility and she was heedful of his. And if they were too careful with themselves to take as much care with me, who can fault them? I don't think most human beings can love (and those that do seem to pay for the privilege). I think that just caring takes enough out of us as it is."

"'Fast food' should at least be one or the other."

"And that's why I thank you. For caring. Not just through providing me with these cards, although this is an enormous help to me. By providing me with food, you have - unknowingly and unintentionally - shown me you care. I don't pretend your motives are pure - you care about me because I spend money here and caring about me insures I will spend more. But it's still caring, as is creating food which will, however temporarily, make me feel better, happier - something as close to loved as I am ever likely to feel. And so I come here, and when I consume the food you make, I'm not consuming slightly greasy ground round and strangely sweet french fries and velvety soft ice cream. I'm consuming love and caring and comfort and reassurance and acceptance. And for a few more minutes, I'm able to feel a part of something, less alone, more human. So God bless you, and please forgive me if my depression makes me complain in a most unChristian manner. Please."

"Girl with the hooters, what do you hide in them? Do you maybe could hide a lotta love for a guy thats gotta lotta room for love inside of him? If youd just try being mine, itd be two that mite be made better. Im thinking thats worth the risk of finding out, how bout you?"

"Now the onion rings stink, too. Where are your priorities?"

"Can you do something about the fat lady that sits in the corner booth and cries? She gives me the creeps. Also, why have you added horse radish to the condiments? Waste of money, waste of space. Waste, waste, waste."