McRib

"Nature's first green is gold," read the general manager, Cameron Sondren, of the Ventura Avenue McDonald's on Wednesday morning. The early morning staff all had their heads bowed, hats removed. Sondren recited all of Frost's poem to the small, somber collection of employees, family, and close friends. 

"We knew it would happen. And we knew when, but," Susan Derigrass, a close friend said, pausing for a moment to collect herself. "It just never seems real until it happens." She excused herself.

As of midnight the night before, the orders from corporate were clear: McRib season was over.

Sondren finished the poem and a moment of silence befell the room. "We mourn our loss, but only because what we'd had was so great," Sondren reminded the staff and others gathered for the memorial. "We must carry on. Steve, take down the posters. Anna, fire up the friers."

As Steve took down the window-sized posters, a hush fell over the crowd gathered outside the restaurant. Some wept openly. Others laid bouquets of flowers on the sidewalk.   "I told myself, I'd get one tomorrow," said one witness. "I'd had one maybe a week ago and it was good. Nothing amazing, but it was there and ready so why not?" 

It seems as though there is an understanding between the employees and management at Ventura. "This isn't Cameron's fault. It's no one's fault. It's just a thing that had to happen," said Anna as the friers began to boil. Then she shot a glance towards her co-workers. "I don't really get what the big deal is. It's just a sandwich. It will be back next year."

Outside, the reaction wasn't as calm. "What do we do now?" Our anonymous witness cried out towards the sky. "What are you trying to tell us? What have we done wrong?"

Though the flags fly at full mast, in the hearts and minds of many a great piece of the year has escaped them. A moment in time never to be recaptured for another 10 months. Nothing gold can stay.