It Happened at McDonald’s

I’ve decided that I have lots of funny stories that happen at fast food restaurants. I wonder what this says about me? Oh, I think it means I eat that crap too much and it’s the Universe’s way of reminding me that I don’t need to be there!

One of my favorite memories with my dad was one time when he and I were out car shopping all day. We decided to stop at McDonald’s for lunch and I wasn’t that hungry, so I ordered a Cheeseburger Happy Meal. The clerk, who could not have been more than 15 years old, then asked me the inevitable question, “Do you need a toy for a boy or a toy for a girl?”

“Oh it’s for me, so I don’t really need a toy,” I said.

Her eyes grew wide as she said, “But it comes with a toy.”

“Oh I know, but I don’t need one, so you can just save it for a kid.”

She repeated, “But it comes with a toy,” as she frantically searched the keypad for the “happy meal without a toy button.”

At this point I look over at my dad, who is snickering. I was so frustrated with her, but I couldn’t help but laugh at the situation. Somehow I managed to tell her that a toy for a boy was ok.

Another McDonald’s story
Back in like the year 2000, my sister Jill and I decided to take a trip to Las Vegas. Well, we started out there, but decided after a few days to rent a car and drive to Los Angeles because neither one of us had ever been there. It was very impulsive for me – I like to have plans and an itinerary. Jill, not so much. So with no hotel reservations or any plans, we just looked at a map and drove until we got to the ocean. That eventually landed us in Santa Monica and we had a blast. We had to evacuate our hotel because of an arson fire next door one night and had a couple of brushes with celebrity, but that’s another story.

On our way to LA, we stopped in Rancho Cucamonga, California at the McDonald’s for lunch. As we were eating, a man came in and started yelling profanities. It was like he had Turret’s Syndrome or something. I think he was yelling in both English and another language, maybe Portuguese. The staff seemed to know him and be used to him, so at first I wasn’t worried. But he kept moving closer towards our table and we decided to leave. I remember severely scratching my leg on some dry, desert bush in the parking lot on my way back to the car. But we were just glad to be out of that McDonald’s!