Bad Ronald

My favorite fast food location is walled in fine, Italian marble. Eating at this McDonald’s is like having a bite at Sadam’s palace.

The menu is the same as that of any other McDonald’s restaurant. But unlike other sites, this space – cavernous and grand -- has been carved into dozens of ornate and cozy little nooks. Each offers an intimate dining experience. The tabletops are of unique, geometric shape, as though designed by an architect with a strong interest in cubism.

Or perhaps our engineer was a taxidermist. For, even more unusual, this McDonald’s features a number of eerily human-looking figures encased in cylindrical glass dioramas. The frightening displays remind one of the museum scenes in “Planet of the Apes,” where Charlton Heston was horrified to find his crewmates stuffed, propped up and posed for viewing.

McSCARY: Ronald shakes down one of the Mario Bros.

The showcases are meant to be idyllic depictions of American life, Rockwell in 3-D. There’s a boy and his dog sharing a quarter pounder after a little league game. Here’s a mother and her child, enjoying a two-cheeseburger combo in the park. In the center of the grand salon is Ronald McDonald himself, having a discussion with a customer.

Garishly lighted, at oddly pitched angles and wearing maniacal grins, however, the figures take on a sinister aspect. We’re sipping shakes in an evil house of wax. For all the world, Ronald – red fright wig menacingly askew and arm outstretched – appears to be shaking down his diner. The face of the guest mannequin is twisted in terror. His hand is raised in supplication to the giant looming over him.

The child in the park scene, with his patchwork skin pulled too tightly across his skull, looks more like a tragically burned little person than a happy infant. His mother stares vacantly into space, uncaring.

In another diorama, a jogger appears to be tearing for the exit. She smiles, but her eyes are wide with fear. We are mere inches from her splayed fingers, yet we blithely check our iPhones. We do the crossword puzzles on our tray mats, ignoring her silent screams for help.

It’s comforting to not have to read when ordering your meal, to be able to point to a picture and mutter, “Gimmie a No. 14.” What’s not so heartwarming is the temperature of this place, which is kept at just above freezing. If he means to capture our bodies via hypothermia, the manager of this hall of horrors has made a fatal mistake. Our shivering keeps us from nodding off, giving into the cold. It reminds us to eat quickly, lest we end up like one of the poor souls on display.