Sunday, April 6, 2014

A Sunday trip to McDonald's!

'Oh boy! I'm going to the double Arches today!' That was my thought as I motored on over to the local McDonald's for lunch one overcast Sunday afternoon. The past week's diet had been pretty much blown all to hell and so I thinking that if I was going to be hung, it might as well be as a cat!

Now McDonald's on a Sunday is generally a drive through affair pour moi. There's two reasons why that's so; 1) the place will have more kids per square foot than at any other time of the week and 2) I can enjoy my lunch drinking a beverage I brought with me rather than pay the sky high rates they want for a coke or other beverage there! On this particular Sunday in April, I arrived a little after the noon hour, just as all the churches were emptying out. And where do the faithful go when they leave their church? Why, to McDonald's of course!

As I sat in line waiting my turn at the speaker-box thingy, I couldn't help but notice the sounds of sheer chaos coming from within the establishment. The center of all that ruckus seemed to be coming from the McDonald's unique indoor version of a 'playground'. A space that looked pretty grimy even from the relative safety of my car. I counted something like ten or more kids who were engaged in activities that ranged from licking the slide surface to hanging upside down from a bar while drooling on an unfortunate child below. Playground, I thought to myself. A better word would be germgroundzero! As I pulled forward, I wondered how many of those kids would be sick on Monday and who would be just in time to give the crud to mommy and daddy! Nothing like starting your work week with an unknown virus multiplying in your gut....

At last, it was my turn to order. 'Squorsh blecky bordash help you', came the distorted words from the speaker. (I've learned from past experience not to pay any attention to whatever it is the box is trying to tell me and hone in only on the word help as my cue to place an order). 'I'll have a cheeseburger and a medium fry,' I ordered in my clearest speaking at a box box voice.

'You want that pushed to the max, honey?', came the surprisingly clear response. Although, I wasn't quite sure what the 'max' actually meant...

'Naw, just give me a cheeseburger and a medium fry,' I responded in a calm and controlled voice. I like to pride myself on being able to survive the McDonald's order gauntlet while staying somewhat intellectually intact.

'OK,squarsh mother fundashs, that'l be ablish abundingee.', came a short retort through a now rising wave of electronic static. I briefly wondered if the order taker was going insane and definitely had no idea of what the correct amount I should pay was. Thankfully, the lit display flashed the amount of $3.02. I sighed in silent gratitude and pulled on up to the pay window, a fist full of change at the ready. I quickly payed for my meal, then pulled forward to the 'delivery' window, grabbed my meal and left. [When I arrived home, I sighed one last time and then enjoyed my Quarter Pounder and tater tots....] Yep! I'd survived a true gauntlet and was now contentedly munching down on a salt loaded, cholesterol hellhole that tasted pretty damn good yet was most likely doing a number on the old aortic arch! As I finished the last bite, I felt....

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