I finally decided to go to Mac's Fish and Chips. I see it when I come home from work everyday. The restaurant is a small white trailer sitting in a parking lot that proved just big enough for tonight's dinner crowd. You'd expect the rectangular building to be tucked neatly into the lot's back corner, but instead it straddles it like chopsticks laid across the back of a bowl. This simile would work better if bowls had right angles but let's just be glad they don't. I walked inside to a tiny, awkward seating area under humming fluorescent lamps and a counter barricading the kitchen to my right. None of the eating stations were alike and they all had problems. Booth-tops jutted into aisles, benches were set too far or close from tables, chairs sat too high for their counters, and everything was oriented differently. The furniture was arranged like a British smile.

Several people were waiting but I was ushered to the counter -- apparently they had already ordered. I knew I wanted the walleye basket but looked to see how I could supplement it. Why don't restaurants offer real portions? I spied the order of chicken strips. Unfortunately I also found the hand-written, hard-to-spot sign saying there was no chicken tonight because they didn't have enough fryer space. (Lent. I was disappointed but understood.) They also weren't serving cheese curds so I settled on 3 ounces of clams and reported this to the young southeast Asian girl womanning the counter. She could have been 15 or 25 and that bothered me. She accidentally ripped my receipt and went to print another but somehow printed 5 feet of the roll and gave me a nervous smile. It was much nicer than the furniture. Eventually I got my receipt and took to waiting.

The entrance to Mac's is between the order counter and the crowd waiting for their food. Several more people came in while I waited. Despite the open space between the new patrons and the food terminal, the cold Minnesotan entrants invariably appealed to the crowd behind them for permission to approach the counter. This is very Minnesotan, don't cha know? "We already ordered" quickly became our mantra.

A hatless fry cook emerged from behind the counter with order 121 and said as much. No one stirred. The klutz taking orders noted that the man was in his car and offered to take it to him, but the missing person entered quickly thereafter. He wore a peculiar Carhart hat. It was a UPS-brown baseball cap that appeared to have ear flaps, but they were tucked under the hat. The top of the hat where that little button-like piece resides came together in a broad cone, rather than a bowl. I despised that detail. The man with the worst hat in the restaurant grabbed his food and began for the door. Halfway there he tripped. He recovered without falling and continued on his way, but I noticed the 15 to 25 year-old immediately start as if she was going to catch his fall... from 8 feet away. There was no chance but she didn't hesitate anyways and I thought that was nice.

I was order 127. Somehow 126 got their food minutes after I ordered and gave me false hope. Order 122, 123, 124, and 125 came next. Order 120 was not happy. He covered his phone long enough to let the staff know as much before returning to his conversation about "millionaires."  I don't care who you are, "millionaires" is a strange category to hold a conversation on.

Eventually I got my food. They put the open-faced tray into a brown paper bag sideways so that it would fit. I was left to carry it out in my arm like a baby, or a football. There is no difference. I rode home with it on my lap. Case closed -- no difference.

When I got home I ripped open the top of the bag, which was actually the side, and flattened it out into a bachelor's plate. I enjoyed the fish with malt vinegar and did not enjoy the fries at all. Fried fish joints seem content with soggy fries and I think that's unfortunate. Despite this set back I sat back in my chair quite content with my dinner. I unraveled the complementary piece of salt water taffy that Mac's (quite oddly) specializes in. It was yellow. I bit into it and was immediately impressed with it's quality. Then I realized it was banana. Fucking shitheads.