Dear McDonald’s Employee

17 10 2009

I realize you never planned on working at McDonald’s. I’m guessing you’re pretty miserable there, if the expression on your face is any indicator. I totally get that. I worked in food service, and had nightmares about being mobbed by hordes of angry Deseret Towers residents demanding pancakes. (True story. I woke myself up by sitting up and yelling, “There will be more pancakes soon!”) So yeah, it’s really not a walk in the park, and I didn’t even have to ask people if they’d like to try an iced latte. (If I had, I probably would’ve had Honor Code Office run-ins even earlier in my short-lived BYU career.)

I’m also aware that you’d like to kill the marketing associate responsible for putting Bakugan in the Happy Meals. Quite frankly, I’d like to kill this person as well.


I really don’t think it’s an unreasonable request to ask you to check what the toy is in my son’s Happy Meal. I’m sure you get that all day, and I’m sorry. But if I’m paying for the damn toy, and I want to know what it is. No, that toy isn’t free. If you’ve ever made chicken nuggets at home, you know that toy is nowhere near free.

So please understand that when I ask if perhaps you might have any of the Bakugan balls and not just the figures, I’m not trying to be difficult. And because I’m being so very polite, an answer other than, “I dunno. That’s what’s in there,” would be appreciated. While I appreciate your amazing grasp of the obvious, I’m also aware that frequently you have other toys available that are NOT in there.

Again, I do get it. I worked in a toy department during the 1996 Christmas season. I was moments away from simply making a recording that said, “Thank you for calling the ZCMI toy department. No, we don’t have the White Mighty Morphin Power Ranger. Yes, we do realize we’re ruining your child’s Christmas. Have a lovely holiday season.” Fads are hell. Everyone suffers–retail employees, parents, children. Okay, the companies themselves don’t suffer. They count their money and laugh, but that’s not the point of this epistle.

You’re, what, 19? Someday, as God is my witness, I hope you have a 4-year-old in your back seat, yelling, “I want a Bakugan!” I hope a fast-food employee shrugs his or her shoulders at you and walks away. I hope you hear about it for the ENTIRE TRIP HOME while your 18-month-old screams because he’s sick and was at the emergency room until 1 a.m. the previous evening.

Because only then, Dear McDonald’s Employee, will YOU understand ME.

Please know that next time I’ll be bringing him inside. I’m feeling the need to share the love.

What? I'm just as cool as the balls!

What? I'm just as cool as the balls!




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