Day 33: Visiting an Old Friend

Today, I had to take the girls to McDonalds.  I know what you are thinking:  "Sure, you won't put that poison in your body, but you have no trouble putting it in your kid's bodies."  Well, you are probably right.  No, just kidding, I do not like taking them there, but it was an emergency.  I was in a very, very big hurry, and the kinds of places I can go you have to walk into (it seems places with decent food do not have drive-up windows).  So, I pulled into McDonalds.  I was in luck, because there was only one person in front of me, so I thought, "Good, I can order, pay, get the food, and get back on the road."  Au contraire, my friends, au contraire.

After waiting for about five minutes behind the one person ordering in front of me (I had started thinking she was ordering one of everything, one at a time), I started getting a little frustrated.  I rolled the window down a bit to get a little air, and overheard her ordering.  She was not ordering everything on the menu, she was negotiating everything.  By the time I rolled down the window, she was ordering a Number 2 (which, frankly, is like the number 13 for a casino, you should never have "Number 2" on any menu for any restaurant in America).  The problem was she did not seem to know what was in a combo meal. 

I was seriously amazed by this.  I mean, either she had never visited any fast food restaurant in America over the last 20 years or she had one of those brain injuries where she can never remember anything.  Either way, it made for a long wait--especially when she started asking for prices for individual items to see if it was cheaper to buy them separately or together.

Eventually, I got my turn to order.  Now, despite going to McDonalds, I have not introduced chocolate milk or lemonade (Maggie's and Mia's favorite drinks, respectively) to my daughter Elisabeth.  Elisabeth drinks water.  So, when I ordered her happy meal, I asked for a cup of water.  The following dialogue should explain how things went:

Intercom Person (IP):  What do you want to drink?

Me:  Just a cup of water is okay, filled about half way up.

IP:  What?

Me:  Just a cup of water filled half way up, please.

IP [After several seconds of silence]:  It won't let me do that.

Me:  I'm sorry?

IP:  It won't let me do that.

Me [After several seconds of silence]:  I'm sorry?

IP:  I can't go on, it won't let me go on.

Me [wondering if my trip to McDonalds was turning into a suicide prevention/intervention]:  Uh, what won't let you go on?

IP:  The computer, it won't let me go on.

Me [realizing that the computer is somehow preventing IP from entering an order of "water" with a Happy Meal and feeling quite relieved that IP is not about to commit suicide by drinking some of that solidified oil by-product in the big, ten-gallon metal drums that all those fast food restaurants have out back]:  Oh, I see.  Your computer won't let me get some water? 

IP:  No, sorry.  Do you want bottled water, its extra. 

[Let me pause here and say that my most disliked word combination in the English language is "its extra."  I simply HATE it when people say this at restaurants.]

Me:  No, I just need a cup of water.

IP:  Sorry, I can't do that.  Can I get you something else to drink?

Me:  Fine, how about a lemonade.

IP:  Okay.

Me:  Can I also get a cup of water, please?

IP:  Sure, its extra.

Well, that was it.  Honestly, no wonder Americans are so fat.  We ask for water, and we are forced to drink sugary lemonade.  Of course, by the time I got my water (which you may recall I had asked for half filled), it was filled to the brim, which made it too heavy for Elisabeth, who proceeded to drop it, causing all of its contents to spill it all over the car.  She drank about two sips of my hard-fought water, and I soaked the rest up with a rag.