The Keeper and est1975 - Keeper of the Fruit Loops

I have a confession.

I eat at McDonald’s every now and again.

And I let my kids eat there, too.

Did all my organic, crunchy, tree hugging, vegan followers just drop dead?

I know I’m supposed to say that I’m offended that McDonald’s makes the food that makes us fat. I know I’m obligated to complain about the nature of the way the food is prepared. And, I KNOW that I’m required as a parent to not tolerate the giving of toys with food so as to not train our kids to associate food with fun or some such nonsense.

I KNOW.

But, the fries. Sigh. I like them. A lot. And, truth be told, I supersize for an extra $0.25 every. single. time.

Don’t look at me like that, Little Miss Judgy Pants. There are worse vices. Like cocaine. And meth. And The Real Housewives series.

McDonald’s has a special place in my heart because, for the 10 months I was pregnant with Fruit Loop #1, the ONLY thing that would stay down in was a McDonald’s plain hamburger hold the pickles. No joke. For 36 straight weeks, when my nausea would subside long enough for me to actually want to eat anything, the absolute ONLY thing that wouldn’t wind up in the toilet or on a guardrail by the side of the road was wrapped in white paper with the MickeyD’s emblem on it.

Yes, I ate McDonald’s fare when I was pregnant and my kid turned out okay. Well, okay enough that I had to start a blog but we will just ignore that little point.

The fact is, I eat at McDonald’s and my kids have literally been eating there since they were in utero.

And I’m delighted to tell you that my friend Sarah of est. 1975 does, too.

As far as funny goes, Sarah is one of the funniest bloggers you will meet. I mean, anyone who lists “the ability to suck farts back up into my ass” on her About Me blog page has to be at least *a little* funny, no? Her blog is irreverent, hilarious and the tagline “a blog for the ladies of Generation X” means that if you were established in or around 1975 (like me…ahem), you will find almost every word she types will make you pee your pants. And if were were established well after 1995, she’s probably making huge amounts of fun about your generation….just saying.

I am honored to have Sarah here for our weekly Tribe Tuesday gathering and that brings me to Sarah’s visitor post about, you guessed it, McDonald’s.

I freely admit that I’m a mom who has used the drive through at McDonald’s but, I can honestly say, I’ve never had an experience like Sarah’s….but, even if I did, I’d still go back.

Because THE. FRIES. Oh, the hot, salty, crunchy fries in the super sized red box of love….

McDonald’s: I’m Hatin’ It

by Sarah of est. 1975

Any of you want to hear about the time I had the most frustrating McDonald’s experience of my entire life?

Sure you do. I mean. I know *I* would, if I were you.

Ahem.

ANYWAY.

The time I had the most frustrating McDonald’s experience of my entire life also happened to be the first day of my son’s summer vacation. And as I’m sure many of you already know, summer vacation presents stay-at-home parents like myself with one of two choices:

1. Entertain your kid 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.

2. Sign him or her up for a whole bunch of inconveniently timed and unreasonably priced activities just so you can actually have sixty seconds to yourself without hearing some variant of:

“MOM. I’M BORED. CAN WE GO TO THE POOL? CAN WE GO TO THE PARK? CAN THAT KID YOU HATE COME OVER FOR SEVEN HOURS? CAN WE HAVE NUTELLA FOR A SNACK AND GET IT ALL OVER THE NEW CARPET? AW, COME ON! YOU ARE THE WORST MOM EVER. IN AN ACT OF DEFIANCE I WILL NOW PLAY VIDEO GAMES ALL DAY AND THEN CRAB LIKE ALL HELL WHEN YOU FINALLY MAKE ME TURN THEM OFF.”

It’s not exactly Sophie’s Choice, people.

Needless to say, I went with Door #2, and consequently my son was at soccer camp on that fateful day. And because I hate myself and I always make choices that make my life even more miserable than it already is, the soccer camp we’d picked was one that required me to a) get up at the exact same time as if I were taking my son to school, b) drive just as far as if I were taking my son to school, and c) pack food and a drink as if I were preparing my son for school. AND YET THE CAMP ONLY LASTED HALF AS LONG AS A SCHOOL DAY. 9 AM – 12 PM to be exact.

THE HORROR!

The unfortunate timing also meant that I had to deal with lunch the minute I picked my son up from camp. Now, we don’t normally have fast food for lunch, but I’ll remind you that the day in question was the first day of summer vacation, and my son and I thought McDonald’s might be a good way to celebrate. Because nothing says fresh air, sunshine, and healthy living than hitting up the McDonald’s drive-thru, ordering a mess of burgers and nuggets, and then eating them in the air-conditioned living room while sitting on the couch watching television.

This particular McDonald’s experience went somewhat differently than expected, however.

We pulled into the drive-thru line which was LONG. But okay, it was noon. I made a mental concession. My son and I chatted about soccer camp during the wait, and when I finally got to the speaker thing I placed a very simple order:

A chicken nugget Happy Meal

Two cheeseburgers

A small fry

I pulled up to the This Is Where You Pay Window and I gave the dude his money. No problem there. It was only when I pulled up to the This Is Ostensibly Where Get Your Food Window that things started to fall apart.

It started with me… not getting my food. They didn’t have it ready. No big deal — they just wanted me to pull into the parking lot and wait for it. Okay, I get it. Sometimes that happens when you place a particularly complicated order for rare and exotic items such as chicken nuggets, cheeseburgers, and fries. Being a gracious woman, I made another mental concession. But then this happened:

Drive-Thru Lady (in what I will generously call “English”): “Please to park where that blue car and red car are parked.”

Me (confused): “Um. I can’t park there. *They’re* parked there. And there’s no empty spots around them.”

Drive-Thru Lady (exasperated): “Please. See that blue car and that red car? You park there.”

Me: “But there are NO SPOTS THERE. The area you’re directing me to is full.”

Drive-Thru Lady: *glare*

Me (apologetically): “I’m really sorry, but I just don’t understand what you’re telling me to do.”

Drive-Thru Lady: “PARK TO WHERE THAT BLUE AND RED CAR ARE PARKED.”

Me (desperate now): “BUT I CAN’T! I LITERALLY CAN’T!”

Drive-Thru Lady (slowly, emphatically, and as if I were the dumbest person on God’s sweet Earth): “THEN. TO WAIT. UNTIL. THEY LEAVE. THEN PARK THERE.”

At this point I was so discombobulated I just went ahead and pulled out of the line, desperately trying to figure out where exactly this insane person wanted me to park. The Blue and Red Cars of Infamy had no one inside and were clearly not going anywhere. They were surrounded on all sides by other parked cars that also had no one inside and were clearly not going anywhere. So I did the best I could and parked about three vehicles down. Granted, it wasn’t PARKING TO WHERE THE BLUE AND RED CAR WERE PARKED, but neither (I felt) would it be a journey of epic proportions for the McDonald’s people to find me. So my son and I sat back, rolled down our windows, and waited.

And waited.

In my rear view mirror I saw car after car leaving the drive-thru, their drivers with bags of delicious greasy food clutched in their hands. This cheesed me off and it also confused the heck out of my son. “I don’t understand why they’re getting their food and we’re waiting here,” he complained. “Where’s our lunch?”

Good question, son.

But I am a patient-ish person and I waited a little bit longer. About ten or twelve minutes total, I would say. Finally, though, both the boy and I had HAD ENOUGH, and we got out of the car and walked into McDonald’s. Which was… completely empty.

Girl at counter: “Can I help you?”

Me: “Uh, yeah. We’ve been sitting in the boiling hot parking lot for ten minutes waiting for our food.”

Girl at counter: “Oh. I didn’t know there was anyone waiting. Did you park where the drive-thru lady told you to?”

Me: “HA! It’s interesting that you should say that, because she told me to park in one of two spots that already had cars in them. So no. I didn’t. But I parked as close as I possibly could.”

Girl at counter: “Well, that explains it. It looks like someone went out there but couldn’t find you. Oh, here’s your food.”

At this point she reached under the counter and handed me a bag of lukewarm nuggets and soggy fries. I just stood there for a second, boggling. Really? Whoever brought out the food COULDN’T FIND ME? I literally COULD NOT BE FOUND? I was only three cars down from where the crazy lady told me to park. I had my engine running, my windows open, and a six-year-old in the car complaining at the top of his lungs about WHY ISN’T THE FOOD HERE YET. And it wasn’t like they had to dispatch Lewis and Clark on an expedition into the Uncharted West — I was parked literally twenty feet from the main entrance of the damn restaurant.

So what did I do then, you probably don’t care? Well, with a grand and largely unheeded announcement that we would never be returning to that McDonald’s, my son and I marched out with our bag of rapidly-cooling greasy grossness and more than a whiff of the moral high ground. And as my son so eloquently remarked:

“We should never have trusted this McDonald’s.”