dailydiatribes

Today was the first soccer day of the fall season.  I really do enjoy watching my kids play, especially Abby, who has a passion for the game.  It's fun to watch your child performing an activity you know she truly loves.

After the game (tied 2-2, not bad since they've never played together...and yes, Abby did score!!!) we went to McDonald's to kill some time before Anna's game.  We decided to hit the one on Acton Road.  As soon as we pulled into the parking lot, I realized it was a bad idea.  The place was swarming with Bama fans, grabbing that last egg Mcmuffin to soak up the alcohol before they got to Tuscaloosa.  But foolish me, I ignored that inner voice that told me to drive away and instead, I parked.

When we got in, there were only three other people in line.  "Hmm," thinks I, "this will not take long at all."  Oh how foolish I am.  Although there were roughly 17 people behind the counter, only one register was open.  And the guy running it seemed to be the only employee who actually had an IQ that registered on the Richter scale.

Now before I get into this, don't think I am a snob.  I have a tremendous admiration for anyone that does what it takes to feed a family or pay for college or whatever.  I have done some pretty nasty jobs myself, including kennel work during the five years I worked for Tim.  So I am not an elitist.

But the fact is, this McDonald's was not staffed with the best and the brightest.  The cashier was great at taking orders, but it kind of broke down after that.  Pretty soon, there were five of us standing there, waiting for our food.  The cashier had an assistant, a cute little girl, with her hair twisted in two little Princess Leia ponytails and tied off with red bows. 

Unfortunately, the bows must have been a little too tight, because they were evidently impeding the flow of blood to her brain.  She sort of stood there, mouth half open, reading the screen and trying to figure out what to do next.  I waited and waited, amusing myself by checking out the wardrobe on the Bama fan behind me.

I have a dear friend once who spoke contemptuously of Auburn's color choices.  I am thinking this dude really didn't look any better in his maroon pants and his red and white striped shirt.  He looked like an escapee from the candy cane factory.   

Anyway, ponytail girl was just not getting the order together.  She was reading the screen, kind of standing there, watching everyone else work, and once in awhile she would kind of finger a biscuit, like maybe she was going to put it in a bag, but then she would turn and do something else.  My blood pressure was beginning to elevate.

Aside:  Jennifer Stringer ordered a Southern Style Chicken biscuit, which led me to ponder what would happen if I ordered a northern style chicken biscuit?  What kind of commotion would ensue as the highly trained staff dealt with a question that had not been covered during their training sessions at McDonald's U? 

Anyway, the manager finally came up to help out and she was asking the ponytail girl what was happening and she was kind of pointing at the screen like she could read it but couldn't quite translate it into action.  So the manager took over and started stuffing things in bags for the drive thru people.  The ponytail girl, inspired, finally started piling biscuits on my tray.

By now, I had been standing there for about ten minutes, waiting for three biscuits and some drinks.  I was starting to feel that tightening in the chest that occurs right before you snap and start bashing people with chicken mcnuggets.  She put three hash browns on the tray and said something unintelligible.  I smiled at her tightly and managed to say very nicely "I need my happy meal toy please."

Because let's be honest.  Our children do not actually enjoy the food served at McDonald's.  Truthfully, they would probably rather be at home eating broccoli and brussels sprouts.  But there is something magical about the packaged toy with the Happy Meal that elevates a plain cheeseburger into a magical feast for the tummy and the senses.  So you cannot leave without the toy; that's the whole point of the trip.  Never mind that it's going to be pitched in the garbage can three days later, WE MUST HAVE THE TOY!!!

So she gives me a look and then gives me the toy.  I grab my tray and rush outside, because now we are truly pressed for time, only to discover they have given me the wrong biscuit.  My eyes actually rolled back into my head briefly as I contemplated having to go back in and duke it out with Princess Leia.  But my desire to eat and get the hell out of there won out and I went back in for the confrontation.

I marched right up to the counter, elbowing other customers out of my way, slammed it down on the counter (ok, very gently laid it, but slammed is a more effective verb) and snarled "I ordered a bacon egg and cheese biscuit, not an egg mcmuffin!!!"  She looked at me blankly, like she had no idea who I was, even though I had been in her line 2 minutes and 37 seconds before.  I never snarl, I am the nicest person I know, but Princess Leia honestly brought out the raging beast in me.  I really could envision the release I would feel at reaching across the counter and snatching those ponytails right out of her head!

The manager looked at me, looked at the screen and said "oh he rang it up wrong," and handed me a new one.  Problem solved.  Princess Leia did not seem to quite comprehend what had just transpired.  I stalked out with my biscuit and went back to sit down so I could swallow it in three bites because now we were out of time and had to leave.

Then, just because this story has to end dramtically, on the way out of the restaurant, Anna dropped the plastic Happy Meal ball we had worked so hard to get and it rolled out in the parking lot.  She started to dart after it and very nearly met her end on the hood of a Chevy Silverado work truck.  Why me?  I grabbed her by the collar, yanked her up on the curb and snarled at her (again the snarling!!!) to "STAY PUT!!!!"  She's crying hysterically like this is the only plastic ball in existence in the universe, I am trying to stare down the truck driver so I can retrieve the ball from under his tire, and thinking longinly of that bus ride to Mexico.  Luckily, I got the ball back, so peace was restored and at this writing, Anna is still alive and unblemished, although I did have a major urge to blemish her for scaring me like that!

I'm not sure what the moral of the story is; maybe it's a cautionary tale about keeping pigtails loose to allow adequate brain cell circulation.  Maybe it's about staying away from McDonald's on game day.  Maybe it's a plea to all those who are thinking about having children to consider increasing their birth control!!  Take it however you want, but feel sorry for me because this was only the first week; seven weeks of hell to go!!!!