Inspiration
Here is a true account of an incident that occurred in a sleepy town in Upstate New York, in a McDonald’s of all places. Curiosity piqued yet? Read on…
(Don’t Fear) The Reaper
Over the years, I have been to many different McDonald’s of all shapes and sizes, filled with all sorts of people from all walks of life. But it was during my most recent visit to this fast food chain, in a town called New Paltz, in upstate New York, that my wife and I had a most unusual experience.
We were headed south down Interstate 84, coming from an unremarkable trip and stay in the town of Lake Placid over the Christmas holidays. The weather was rigid and foreboding, and we decided to cut our trip short because of an impending winter storm forecasted to last from Friday afternoon to the following morning with up to 8 inches of snow. We had planned to stop by Saratoga Springs, but given the change in weather, decided to cancel that leg of the trip, leaving early that Friday morning to head back home to Long Island.
The return trip had also been thus far uneventful, with the only notable characteristic being the subzero temperatures and blistering cold that permeated the atmosphere and leached into our very bones. The two of us were in relatively jolly spirits, and has befitting the season, as we pulled over from the highway to the small town of New Paltz, New York.
We had planned a short layover, so to speak, as the plaza had a row of superchargers with which we could charge our vehicle. As the vehicle was charging, we would then mosey our way over to the nearby McDonald’s. My wife was looking forward the entire day – heck, the entire weekend – for a tasty Filet-O-Fish, while I only cared for some solid substance and temporary warmth before making our way back to the (hopefully) now-charged vehicle, driving off, and leaving the town of New Paltz behind and forgotten for good for the rest of our lives.
At least that was the plan.
Entering the building, I was pleasantly surprised at the cleanliness of the place as far as a McDonald’s goes. This particular one was one of the newer ones with brightly lit and colored walls, and even had a collection of 70th anniversary Disneyland children’s meals souvenirs alongside one wall. In the hallway, a cleaning lady was sweeping the floor near the entryway leading to the bathroom. We placed our orders at the kiosk, and after that, the two of us went to our respective washrooms to clean off the dirt and grime from the Lake Placid trip.
As I looked around and took in the patrons of the establishment, I was somewhat surprised at the variety of people there. There was a group of French-speaking individuals, no doubt coming from abroad looking to take in the natural beauty of the Adirondacks and the Lake George resort area. The remainder of the restaurant was modestly full. There was a group sitting behind us at a corner booth and a few other individuals here and there, but overall it was your run-of-the-mill McDonald’s in the middle of nowhere.
As we leisurely waited for the car to be supercharged, we were busy enjoying the delicious meal that had been ordered. The two of us were sitting at a booth near the full-glass windows by the McDonald’s parking lot. We were finishing up the meal, and I was busy scrolling on my phones to pass the time, when the calmness was broken by a sudden urgent glance from the missus.
She directed my attention towards the glass window. I followed her gaze and pointed finger. It was a tall man, walking slowly towards the entrance. He was clad in black from his head to his toe. He was wearing black shoes, black jeans, possibly a black hoodie that covered up all his hair. His face was completely covered in full by a black mask, and his right hand clutched a with a blade at the end. He even had a large backpack on – colored black, what else, and it was clear to me that he was masquerading as the Grim Reaper, scythe and all.
His appearance struck me as so odd that in my head I had to double check the date – it was indeed the 26th of December, the day after Christmas, and not the day after Halloween. It was then, peering even closer, that I noted his abnormal gait, a slight lurch along one side, and a left hand that was twitching with preternatural movements.
His actions made no sense to me – who would go through all that effort to put on full Reaper regalia, venture out in below freezing temperatures, just to walk into a fast food restaurant, sit down, and grab a meal? And if to eat, why the mask? The primal instincts – fear and flight – pricked the skin on the back of my neck, and my wife and I glanced at one another with sudden unease.
The French group continued their conversation, oblivious to the masked man lurking outside the entrance, while a couple behind us exclaimed, “Oh, he’s not coming in!”
But they were wrong. The Grim Reaper open the door, flashing a white-skinned hand (ruling out that that this individual was the actual Grim Reaper, thankfully), and purposefully strode in. He looked around for one long moment, probably only two seconds but feeling like two eternities. I thought that our eyes overlapped, the way he lingered over our table, but he may have been taking in the room itself, and regardless I could not make out his face beneath the mask.
It was now that my throat tightened up, as if I was being choked by a distant, cold hand, but relief swept over me as the masked man then turned to his right and proceeded towards the men’s restroom. That initial burst of relief turned then to dread as I thought of the implications – was this person going to the bathroom just to access his backpack? What was in his backpack? Would he come out scythe-swinging or guns-blazing? Was the Grim Reaper outfit but part of a bleak message decrying and raging against the wintertime holiday celebrations? My mind was in a terrible tizzy.
It is at this point that I redirect the commentary to that of my wife for the duration of this episode, as I was not thinking straight:
“As he looked in our direction, I immediately, instinctively stood up, completely forgetting about the tray and the leftover mess of our meal. I went behind the chair of the booth and thought about hiding below it. As I went to kneel down to hide, the man turned to the direction of the bathroom with his back towards us.
I knew then that it was time to leave this cursed McDonald’s. I ran quickly to the door near us and pushed it open, while [my husband] was waiting behind, holding the tray that we left the food in. He walked to the trashcan, and I told him we needed to leave now. I saw him accidentally dump the tray in the trash along with the food. There was no time to go back for it. The two of us rushed out of the restaurant and into the biting winter wind.”
Reflection
In the end, the two of us did some thorough Internet sleuthing, and it turned out that the Grim Reaper was someone well-known to the local populace, an individual who had previously sustained a traumatic brain injury after a car crash that also affected his left hand function. Since the crash, he had taken to dressing up into various costumes including that of the Grim Reaper and even the Joker, provoking passersby and motorists in the area.
Even knowing this, the next time a Grim Reaper walks through the door of the restaurant at which I am dining, I do not think I would do anything else differently.