McDonalds

Saturday morning. Having to work hours earlier than usual (and on a Saturday) I head out the door. Halfway to 10 hours of pure physical exhaustion moving and loading building supplies in the hot summer sun I realize that I forgot to eat breakfast. Not a problem as I see the comforting bosom of the Golden Arches a few lights before the lumberyard. SInce I have fifteen minutes to get to work (just a ¼ mile away) turn in for the most important meal of the day. The world’s friendliest static called from the little box and sure enough the right items were on the screen. I pulled ahead to pay the polite young lady with black lipstick and undertaker’s eyeliner then off to the window. At the window the lady hands me my orange juice which i down in one quick slurp and await my Mcmuffins. Entertainment for these nine minutes is provided inside the restaurant by the silly dance troupe of Mcployees hi-​fiving and laughing and by the weird old guy in the Run DMC Adidas tracksuit at the front counter who obviously cannot decide what to order because he is pacing back and forth. It is now a race to make it to work on time, but I need my breakfast, the most important meal of the day. These folks must be making it it just right, just for me.
Sure enough I get my Sandwiches and toss the bag on the passenger seat, I need to get to work before I am late (I had thought I had surplus time but was willing to sacrifice for the care and delicate finesse put into making my meal) I pull into the driveway, grab my breakfast running full sprint to the timeclock my nimble fingers getting my code in milliseconds before being redflagged for tardiness. A sigh of relief I head to the morning meeting feeling smug, not only did I manage to clock in at the last possible second, I was going to get to envoke the envy of my fellow workers as I ate McDonalds while they got yesterday’s donuts. I reach into the bag for the crisp english muffins, steaming eggs, sausage and melted cheese to find cold uncooked muffins smeared with some kind of butter sauce, cold rubbery egg things, some kind of mystery meat oozing black juices (smelt like filet o fish) and a crooked half slice of cheese slapped on the back side all wrapped in golden paper. A taste test proves that the hard work and time put into the McMuffins were because they were meant to be seen and not ingested.
I arrive at the meeting to sad faces, we had all stopped at Mcdonalds on the way to work today with the idea that 2 for 3 was plainly too good of a deal to pass on. If it were Christmas and our Sandwiches were gifts, it would be the worst Christmas ever. My boss delegates me to calling McDonalds to see if we could remedy this. The lady with the gruff voice on the phone tells me that this is how McMuffins are supposed to be made and she’s been taking calls all morning, people should understand they get what they pay for. This was a shock to me, ALL OF THE OTHER MCDONALDS I HAVE BEEN TO IN 32 STATES ARE DOING IT WRONG!!! She offered to replace my sandwiches provided I bring a receipt, which I cannot find anywhere then hung up the phone without a good day sir, or thank you for your concern. I stood in agonized shock, it was going to be a long day of physical labor, one which I was starting off on the wrong foot because I couldn’t get breakfast, heaven forbid I drop dead from lack of energy. It was a miserable long five hours to lunch with a grumbly empty stomach, at least I wasn’t red flagged for being late, almost but not.

It’s another McDonalds and has a Boingo wifi service