 "China's homeless find shelter under McDonald's golden arches")
He woke to the cry of the morning janitor. "Put your shoes on!" she said. "Put your shoes on!" She rattled a chair. "This isn't your house! Sit up!"
Ding Xinfeng's eyes blinked open. Dawn had yet to break, but inside a 24-hour McDonald's restaurant in central Beijing, more than a dozen homeless people had begun their daily routines.
Ding lifted his head, revealing a mess of food stains and decorative slogans on the table in front of him. "Wake up every morning with the thought that something wonderful is about to happen," one read.
Ding could not read the English, but he said he liked the warmth of this table, in this corner, in the peace of McDonald's, the place he had called home for several years.
Every night across East Asia, in major cities like Beijing, Hong Kong and Tokyo, an invisible class of people - shut out of shelter systems, scorned by their families, down on their luck - turn to a beacon of Americana for a warm, dry place to sleep.
By day, the McDonald's restaurants host birthday parties and book clubs. By night, when the floors have been mopped a final time and the pop music turned down, they become sanctuaries for the downtrodden, who pounce on half-eaten hamburgers and stale French fries, and stake out prized sleeping spots in padded booths.
Often called McRefugees, they vanish at sunrise, some combing their hair with plastic forks before slinking outside into the masses.
On an austere November morning, as the wind howled outside, Ding's McDonald's began to fill up with schoolchildren, yam sellers, retirees armed with chess pieces and red-eyed street patrolmen.
He began to circle, making his pitch for donations.
"My family has begged for food since the Ming dynasty," he said. "I'm the 19th generation. There will be no beggars in China after I'm dead."
A man offered a newspaper. A woman gave 50 cents.
A young girl extended a French fry.
Ding returned to his seat, opened the newspaper, and began studying the lottery numbers, searching for patterns.
While other restaurants might kick them out, McDonald's generally embraces wanderers like Ding, who have flocked to the chain as it has rolled out more 24-hour locations in Asia. More than half of the 2,200 McDonald's restaurants in mainland China are now open 24 hours a day.
McDonald's has spent decades cultivating an image of community here, building bright, stylish restaurants and adjusting menus to local tastes. In addition to the standard burgers and fries, the Beijing outlets serve taro pies and soy milk with fried bread. Many restaurants have become neighborhood institutions, symbols of status and cleanliness, popular spots for study groups, business meetings and leisurely chats.
"McDonald's welcomes everyone to visit our restaurants anytime," said Regina Hui, a spokeswoman for McDonald's in China.
How welcoming is up to each franchise owner, the company says. "We are definitely a welcoming place, but I wouldn't call it a policy," Becca Hary, a spokeswoman at the company's headquarters in Oak Brook, Ill., wrote in an email.
Tension over when that welcome is overstayed has long been an issue for McDonald's around the world. In 2014, a McDonald's in New York Citycalled the police to remove a group of older Korean patrons who had turned the restaurant into a social club, spending more time than money. And a McDonald's in Manchester, England, came under fire last year for refusing to serve a customer who wore dirty clothing, thinking he was homeless.
In Hong Kong, Stevix Ho, a McDonald's manager, said he had to contend with a crowd of heroin addicts who appeared to have severe mental illness.
©2016 The New York Times News Service
Ding Xinfeng's eyes blinked open. Dawn had yet to break, but inside a 24-hour McDonald's restaurant in central Beijing, more than a dozen homeless people had begun their daily routines.
Ding lifted his head, revealing a mess of food stains and decorative slogans on the table in front of him. "Wake up every morning with the thought that something wonderful is about to happen," one read.
Ding could not read the English, but he said he liked the warmth of this table, in this corner, in the peace of McDonald's, the place he had called home for several years.
Every night across East Asia, in major cities like Beijing, Hong Kong and Tokyo, an invisible class of people - shut out of shelter systems, scorned by their families, down on their luck - turn to a beacon of Americana for a warm, dry place to sleep.
By day, the McDonald's restaurants host birthday parties and book clubs. By night, when the floors have been mopped a final time and the pop music turned down, they become sanctuaries for the downtrodden, who pounce on half-eaten hamburgers and stale French fries, and stake out prized sleeping spots in padded booths.
Often called McRefugees, they vanish at sunrise, some combing their hair with plastic forks before slinking outside into the masses.
On an austere November morning, as the wind howled outside, Ding's McDonald's began to fill up with schoolchildren, yam sellers, retirees armed with chess pieces and red-eyed street patrolmen.
He began to circle, making his pitch for donations.
"My family has begged for food since the Ming dynasty," he said. "I'm the 19th generation. There will be no beggars in China after I'm dead."
A man offered a newspaper. A woman gave 50 cents.
A young girl extended a French fry.
Ding returned to his seat, opened the newspaper, and began studying the lottery numbers, searching for patterns.
While other restaurants might kick them out, McDonald's generally embraces wanderers like Ding, who have flocked to the chain as it has rolled out more 24-hour locations in Asia. More than half of the 2,200 McDonald's restaurants in mainland China are now open 24 hours a day.
McDonald's has spent decades cultivating an image of community here, building bright, stylish restaurants and adjusting menus to local tastes. In addition to the standard burgers and fries, the Beijing outlets serve taro pies and soy milk with fried bread. Many restaurants have become neighborhood institutions, symbols of status and cleanliness, popular spots for study groups, business meetings and leisurely chats.
"McDonald's welcomes everyone to visit our restaurants anytime," said Regina Hui, a spokeswoman for McDonald's in China.
How welcoming is up to each franchise owner, the company says. "We are definitely a welcoming place, but I wouldn't call it a policy," Becca Hary, a spokeswoman at the company's headquarters in Oak Brook, Ill., wrote in an email.
Tension over when that welcome is overstayed has long been an issue for McDonald's around the world. In 2014, a McDonald's in New York Citycalled the police to remove a group of older Korean patrons who had turned the restaurant into a social club, spending more time than money. And a McDonald's in Manchester, England, came under fire last year for refusing to serve a customer who wore dirty clothing, thinking he was homeless.
In Hong Kong, Stevix Ho, a McDonald's manager, said he had to contend with a crowd of heroin addicts who appeared to have severe mental illness.
©2016 The New York Times News Service