People who know me, know that I don’t like burger vans, it isn’t that I don’t like the food, it’s just that I don’t like the idea of them. Whenever I pass one I always think that they smell nice, and I think that I might like to try a burger. It would be quite nice to have a quarter pounder as I want it instead of the local McDonalds that either has too much sauce, too much lettuce or it sticks to the side of the box so when you pull it out all you get is an empty bun.
That is my rational mind, my anxious mind is different.
When my anxious mind sees a burger van, it sees a rusty tin box on deflated tires supported by bricks. It sees a person who hasn’t washed in a week with three days of beard growth (man or woman), and with an apron that is covered with stains and particles of something that not even modern day forensic DNA could identify.
It sees the grill, well, what looks like a grill, it’s covered in that many layers of fat that the guy has to stand on a stool to cook. It imagines the number of bacteria that are living on that grill and the cooks hands. Being transferred onto the 25% beef patty and slapped between two halves of a bun that had a best before date of 1998.
It feels sorry for all those poor people that are eating at this tin box because they will soon be feeling the effects of the bacteria ridden burger and may be permanently damaged as a result.
So I walk on by.
The anxious mind can be very convincing, that’s why it’s so dangerous.