Would You Like Fries With That?

To the CEO of McDonald’s, Grand Poobah of Fatty Goodness:



Dear Mr. (or Ms.) Poobah:


Do you have a minute? I’d like to tell you a story and get your opinion on it.


First off, let me start by saying, I’m a fan. I'm not one of those pretentious foodies who think of fast food as eco-terrorism. On the contrary, I'm deeply wedded to the unhealthy world of empty nutrients.
 
There is no one who appreciates your corporate commitment to fatty goodness more than I, and my hips and belly will attest to that fact. I personally would eat a roof shingle if it had Big Mac special sauce smeared on it, and I’m convinced that an international summit conference of world leaders could not fail to agree to Peace on Earth and Nuclear Non-Proliferation if Big Macs were served. Those tiny pieces of onion, that sauce, the roll cut in three precise slices, the manufactured cheese slice. Perfection!



But in the morning, when I’m still self-delusional enough to convince myself that I’m going to consume only healthy carbohydrates all day—yes, all day—I’m a fan of oatmeal.


When McDonald’s launched Apple Cinnamon Walnut Oatmeal, honestly it made me warm in places I’m embarrassed to talk about. Oatmeal AND fresh apples AND cinnamon AND walnuts? Oh, baby!


Apparently, though, McDonald’s does not want me to eat this breakfast that I can almost convince myself is heart-healthy.


Five days a week, on my way to work, I slide off the highway into the McDonald’s in H****, Georgia. Yes, the one nestled between the WalMart and the Chik Fil-A. That one. You're right...it's a nice one, clean with very few cooties on the play equipment. 


The trip through the drive-thru is the easy part. I no longer even have to place my order most days (ACWO plus a medium diet coke). Once I convinced my personal shopping representative Lucy (yes, we're on a first-name basis)  that, no, I do not want deep-fried carbohydrates, or even tasty frozen slushy carbohydrates, to accompany my healthy carbohydrates, it shaved seconds off the transaction time and now she just says “Good morning, that will be $3.20.” We have reached an understanding, as it were. Detente, even.


But beyond that, it’s a crapshoot what I'll get for breakfast.


Because NOT ONCE since I started ordering this breakfast two months ago, has my order been right.


NOT ONCE. (This is the most consistent aspect of my life at this point, so maybe I should just shut up and stop complaining.) But ...


No straw. Regular coke. No walnuts. No apples in the oatmeal. Apples but also cranberries and golden raisins, which is roughly equivalent to adding moose poop to my oatmeal in my world.

Every single morning, I have to park my car, get out, go into the restaurant, which is what I was avoiding from the beginning by going through the drive-thru, and confront a human who is not Lucy to reconstruct what has to be the easiest order known to man. Oatmeal, Apples, Cinnamon, Walnuts, Diet Coke, straw, napkin, spoon. Eight elements, plus the bag. Nine.


It was interesting to learn last week that there are 176 million possible winning combinations on a Mega Millions ticket. In fact, the commentators couldn’t stop saying it. There are 176 million possible combinations. No, really, 176 million. That means the odds against your winning is 176 million to one. Really. No, listen…you’re NOT winning it.

They were right. I didn't.


Are the odds on getting my breakfast right REALLY 176 million to one, or … are they just screwing with me? You tell me.