“Another fucking day of this” Ronald thought as the facility alarm woke himself and the other unfortunate lab rats from their sleeping pods. “I just wanted some free god damn fries, maybe a burger or something, I didn’t think I’d win the million bucks, I just wanted to collect the damn pieces for some free food. God knows I’ve given this place enough of my money over the course of my life.”

Ronald took his place at his usual station, the armed guard with his yellow overalls mimicking the Double Golden Arched symbol of the giant faceless corporation who’s metaphorical boot was stomping Ron’s metaphorical face. “Arms at your side.” Ron complied of course, what else could he do, before he felt the blindfold slip on.

The blindfold always made reminiscence come without thinking. Blocked off from visual stimuli, made it easy to recount the events that led him here. That goddamn monopoly game. Jesus Christ, no one must of read those terms closely. Not that it would matter much anyway. Nowadays it’s pretty much taken for granted that your personal data is traded behind closed doors and no one really gives a shit, but even Ron didn’t think that they had the agency to just steal people. The monopoly game was an experiment dressed up as a marketing tactic. There was a million dollar prize, sure, there had to be or it would’ve never worked, but that was never the end game. Brand loyalty was an odd thing for the top execs to contemplate because, one one hand it’s almost expected given how big they are. I mean, when you can hang signs that say ‘over 99 billion served’ outside each of your restaurants, then it’s pretty well established that you’re not going away any time soon. But. There’s always more money to be made. That was the duality of their thought process and as a result they were always trying to ‘innovate.’ To jazz up the menu. That’s what got them their god forsaken rib sandwich that release for a limited time every year like some national holiday. Jesus Christ, If they knew what that was made from they’d shit themselves. I mean, the sandwich already does a pretty good job of making them shit themselves without that knowledge. Or maybe they wouldn’t care, who knows. I digress.

See, funny enough, Ron found himself in this circumstance in large part due to his loyalty. The researchers didn’t owe him any explanation but I think after a while something akin to pity arises within them and they feel obliged in a way to give the subjects a sense of closure. This whole monopoly game was designed to find the highest investors in the company. I don’t mean traditional investors, men who put up their already exuberant sums of money in hopes to make more, I mean actual investors. Well, I guess they’re technically called ‘customers’ really. See Ron loved this place. He had fond memories of opening the toy prizes that came with the kids meals and if he was having a shitty day, it’s nothing that a couple of dollar menu doubles wouldn’t fix. He played that game religiously hoping to win the prize and maybe get some free food along the way. He never won the money but he has all the free food he could want now. Ron spent more money than anyone else among his income bracket and for his effort, found himself as the company’s first captive taste tester. Congrats Ron, take you’re prize.

“Okay, take a bite and record your thoughts aloud for the camera please.” He never saw the plate. Visual appeal didn’t matter and got in the way of the test according to the researchers. Ron felt around on the table in front of him until his hand touched something spongy and slightly damp. Immediately his arms pulled back on instinct. when he heard the guard lift his gun, he took a small portion of the soft wet pile of meat placed before him with his first two fingers and his thumb. Reluctantly he lifted the sample to his mouth, placed it in and began chewing.

The darkness created by the blindfold punctuated the silence as the researchers awaited his thoughts. The first bite filled Ron with a flood of emotions, complex in their contradiction. Choking back tears, Ron sobs “it.. it tastes incredible.” The admission felt like a deep intimate form of self-betrayal. Given the bleakness of his circumstances how can he condone a single part of this process, but yet he couldn’t lie. He was glad he did not know what he was eating, he never wanted to know so long as he could keep tasting it. He heard their pens clicking, scribbling. He began to wonder what they were writing. How they were interpreting this trauma into quantifiable market data. He wondered what he just swallowed. The pleasure of the flavor mixed with the uncertainty of the source blended together in an overwhelming and indescribable existential horror. He became very aware of the certainty of his situation, particularly of its permanence. There is no way he would ever see the inside of one of these stores again. He’s taken a deeper role now, no longer just a customer. He needed something, anything to alleviate this realization. He took another portion of whatever it was that was placed before him. Savoring the flavor, he couldn’t keep his composure any longer.

“Please, Ron, contain yourself. This is important.” He heard the guard shuffling behind him again. Each bite brought him temporary reprieve from the weight of the crushing resignation he felt to his own situation. He consumed the entire plate of food in front of him and when his hands reached downward towards an empty plate, he was inconsolable. Nothing further to distract him and comfort him. He fell to his knees sobbing when he heard one researcher remark on his state to another “hmm guess this wasn’t his Happiest Meal.” The group chuckled and clicked their pens as another plate was put forward.