I assume the McFish doesn’t sit well. Common sense tells me it can’t have the same turnover rate as a Big Mac, so they might have a policy of just waiting until someone orders it to make it.
Anyhoo… Damien decided that the wait was way too long.
Really, who can blame him?
I was certainly bouncing off the walls behind him, lusting in my heart with pornographic culinary fantasies about the naughty things I was about to do with my happy meal– and I don’t even have ADHD.
I’ve been getting happy with my McDonald’s happy meal since I was 3 years old. Anyone offended by this confession, please have compassion. From the evil plotting by Big Tobacco with kid friendly advertising using Joe Camel cartoons to lure me in, to the drug pusher who we all know from the Public Service commercials hangs by the swig set during recess, asking innocent kids if they “really want to fly?”, well– I never had a fighting chance against the power of McDonalds! They got me when I was young!!
Sometimes, out of the clear blue AND after endless preaching about the wonders of the Master Cleanse Detox (while I’m reintroducing my regular diet to my system by sucking on a cigarette and knocking back a Draft of Guinness) I find myself driving directly to McDonalds to indulge in my shameful high.
Let me give it to you nasty. We’re all adults here and we should really just keep it real.
This is how I do my happy meal:
I like to stack the French fries on my burger in a painstaking manner that begins by first making sure that ALL fries are the exact same length. I achieve this feat by biting off little bits from some pieces to get them perfectly even. I then lay the fries in criss crossing rows over the “meat”.
Usually a happy meal will give you two perfect rows of 7 fries. The short fries and the burnt fries offend me. They aren’t good enough for this exercise, so they must go directly into my mouth.
As Damien and his peeps awaited their bag of cholesterol, I was forming a crystal clear vision of my teeth clamping down on the little ketchup bag, ripping it open with gusto and squeezing it in a wave pattern over my meticulously stacked fries.
Would one bag of ketchup be enough?
“No” I mouthed to myself as a knowing smile crept over my face and I made a mental note to ask for three ketchups.
“There is no need to waste” my logical mind noted. “I care about the environment after all! Like Al Gore said, we ALL have to do our part. It’s so disturbing how they give you two ketchup bags and then when you ask for more, they hand you like seven more bags!”
At this realization I looked up judgmentally at the McDonald’s employee who obvious never considered how irresponsible this kind of wanton ketchup dispersion is to mother earth. Can’t they just ask people exactly how many they want?
“Its like t
