It was a dark and stormy night in the lnk. [Yeah, yeah, it’s a clichet, but it’s the truth, deal.] I’m hanging out with Karen: she studying, me alternating between homework and the job that pays for the homework. I’m also monitoring the #lnk hashtag on Twitter and listening to the scanners when @bburket21 innocently asks, “McDonalds or Amigos?” which plants the seed of “I want a chocolate strawberry shake”. I, being the wonderful and thoughtful friend that I am, plant a similar seed in Karen’s mind.
Once we both wrap up our respective projects we decide to run over and get a shake and some fries. However, the storm really decides to cut loose and we go back inside. See, we both paid attention that day in elementary school when they told you not to play outside in the lightning unless you wanted to find out what becoming KFC extra crispy felt like.
An hour passes, the storm warning expires, the clock hits 1:15. We’re still wide awake and both ridiculously hungry now, so we venture out again.
The rain has tapored off, and there’s only a litle lightning far off in the distance. Nothing to worry about.
We walk the half-mile to our local McDonalds only to find that the 24-hour restaurant has locked both its doors. Not being ones to give up and go home quite that easily, we decided to try this experience from the prospective of your average motorist. We wander around the building a bit, locating what I think might be the drive-in speaker, but apparently the little scensor dealy is smart enough to realize that making haunking and vroom-vroom noises doesn’t make me a car. Which begs the question “If computers are really that smart, why can the Amtrak lady never understand a word I say?” As it turns out, we weren’t at the speaker, blind fail.
After locating the drive-in window and not receiving any kind of acknowledgement of our presence from inside Ronald’s Nugget Castle, we proceeded to stand there like two monkeys trying to figure out how to open a can of baked beans:
“They’re not answering us.”
“I know they’re in there, I can hear them.”
“Me too. I want my food.”
“I did not come all this way to be denied my chicken nuggets and shake.”
“Do ou feel that?”
“What? The water drippping from the sky? No, I refuse to. Fore I do not yet have my chicken nuggets and shake”
Finally, a nice young lady slides open the window.
“Weeee,” says me.
“Hi, walkups we do not take,” says she.
“But your lobby is locked,” points out Karen.
I, being full of snark and, well at this point nothing else because I am hungry, simpy hold up my white lance and smile, “yeah, I tried that. didn’t make it out of the garage. Also, i tried to be a car, but your censor didn’t like my impression.”
“Oh, no,” bubbles the Nugget Princess, “that’s because you’re not big enough.”
I manage to bite back the obvious, “because I avoid the super size,” and simply smile.
She tells us she’ll make a one-time exception, but the specialty drink machine is closed for the evening. So no chocolate strawberry shake.
We leave with our food, and a great deal of bafflement. How is it that a 24-hour restaurant can ignore the possibility of walk-up clients. I realize there are some security concerns, and they may not want to keep the lobby open and encourage anyone to hang out all night. However, we cannot be the only people interested in a late-night snack who don’t have a four-wheeled conveyance with which to lower the magical drawbridge that apparently gets erected at the witching hour. So, McDonalds, I’m willing to be reasonable. I suggest that we sit down at the big MacTable of Chicken McCompromise and work out a fair and equitable solution. I propose one of the following: a( you allow your employees to take walk-up clients unless they are feeling unsafe or threatened by the individual; or b) you buy me an NFB Blind Driver/Google Car and two chocolate strawberry shakes.
No, seriously. we want our shakes.