"The Wisdom Of Joe Pesci", or "The Question"...

So, I tend to eat a fair whack of McDonalds. More than I should. Waaaay more than I should. Precise details are between me, my physician, and those pesky Greenpeace types who keep trying to roll me into the water whenever I'm at the beach...

Leaving aside my record-breaking cholesterol, rock-hard arteries, and my not needing embalming when I die due to the stupendous level of preservatives I ingest, it means that I spend more time at Maccas outlets than your average punter (unless your average punter is named Morgan Spurlock). As a not-particularly-keen, I-just-seem-to-be-around-when-shit-happens observer of the human condition, I can't help but notice the various foibles that afflict the bright-eyed, eager young things who happily provide a seemingly never-ending source of sub-minimum wage labour to the fast-food outlets.

Now, as with so many red-blooded Aussie blokes, I'm a strictly meat-and-potatoes kinda guy. Don't like fruits, nor veggies. (I shall manfully refrain from making any gay jokes, or references to sub-par intellects - this is strictly food-related. You can make your own arrangements, and deal with the consequences). Accordingly, when I feel the urge to grease up (in a foodish way), I order my McFood sans accoutrements, aka "Leave All That Other Shit Off!".

My bite of choice at the mo' is McDonalds' Mighty Angus. I like it. I like the thicker Angus patty, as opposed to the poker-chip thickness patties in the other McBurgers. I also seriously dig that it comes with a slice of bacon - and genuine "Is Don, Is Good!" rasher bacon, too, not that dreadful, artificially mashed-together "breakfast slice" crap that Hungry Jack's have been foisting on the consumer for so long. I challenge any Hungry Jack's employee, from the CEO down, to tell me what part of the pig that stuff comes from.

Perhaps better not. I've eaten there...

But bacon (REAL bacon, see last paragraph) is one of life's great joys, as noted by John Travolta in "Pulp Fiction" - "Bacon tastes goooood". (Admittedly, in the same scene, Samuel L. Jackson refuses to "dig on swine", but I in turn refuse to take seriously anyone who boogies around in public sporting a pretentious middle initial. Seriously - Samuel L. Jackson, to distinguish him from the well-known Samuel B. Jackson, or Samuel X. Jackson, perhaps? I propose a name-change to the more appealing "Samuel L. Mother-Fucking Jackson Mother-Fucker". It works better. More adequately sums up his general public persona, and would be one of the all-time great responses when pulled over by the cops and asked to state your name...).

Brief digression: why do cops always ask reeeeeally dumb questions when they pull you over? "Do you have any reason for doing 195 miles per hour in a 30 zone?". What do they expect the answer to be? "Duuude, I just took a shit-load of acid, and I'm tryin' to get home before it hits"... Digression over, back to our program...

So, when I hit McPukes, and am asked to place my order, here's my reply: "A Mighty Angus - meat, cheese, and bacon only - with an extra slice of bacon". Simplicity itself, although you'd be amazed at just how often this turns to tears...

Firstly, the staff are trained to try and get you to order "a meal". To give you stuff you don't really want, just to get more dough out of you. It's indoctrinated. Ingrained. Resulting in the following:

"What would you like?". (What would I like? Well, Jennifer Hawkins / Belinda Chapple / Natalie Portman, naked, please. With bacon).

"A Mighty Angus - meat, chee.."
"Is that in a meal?".

After politely answering "No", I proceed to give the order again. I'm invariably asked to repeat it, as it's a hard concept to grasp. There's an occasional hesitancy, as the counter-operative (no, not a spy - although I actually did once see one wearing a Hungry Jack's shirt! Really!) tries to work out the implications of "meat, cheese, and bacon only" - "You don't want pickles?". "Are pickles meat, cheese, or bacon? Then, nooooo"...

Occasionally, help is required. Another operator leaps into action, pressing all the correct buttons. I then repeat the "with an extra piece of bacon" post-script.

Which is when it happens. The Question.

"On the burger?"

Almost every damned time.

I used to be a huge fan of Mad magazine, at least until they launched that hyper-lame Australian version, and one of my favourite sections was Dave Berg's "Snappy Answers To Stupid Questions". And really, a veritable raft of witty rejoinders spring effortlessly to mind:

"No, in my hand'll do just fine...".
"With the fries, thanks"
"Could you put it in one of those little bags the Hash Browns come in?"
"It's not for me, it's for YOU!"

And so on...

Usually it's resolved, at least until I get my order, and began my forensic examination of the contents. See, very often, there are Foreign Objects in there - to wit, all the crap I specifically ahhhksed 'em not to put on, ay. Or, as a variation on the theme, occasionally there are omissions - such as the extra slice of bacon I requested, and paid an extra dollar for. On one halcyon night not so far back, they even left out the meat...

You're probably wondering what the Joe Pesci reference is doing in the title of this rant; if so, I congratulate you on your attention span! To paraphrase Hemingway, it is now necessary that you view Lethal Weapon 2. Or at least this bit of it:

It's one of life's great truisms. There's nary a one of us who hasn't been done over at a drive-thru at some point, and arrived at destination missing a variety of the items we'd ordered. Or with any of a dozen handy substitutes. It's almost a rite of passage. And an ever-looming pitfall for the unwary, the weak, and the fatigued.

Thus, one night, did I make my way into a Maccas drive-thru, and place my customary order. The Question went un-asked, thereby lulling me into a false sense of security. The McOrder was duly dispensed, and I pulled into a handy parking spot to ascertain that All Was Well inside the bag.

NOT!

I'd asked for a Mighty Angus and fries. However, there was a box of McNuggets on top. Poop. Being scrupulously honest (and as I don't eat chicken, and the extra bits were therefore of no earthly...), I removed the box, in order that I might return it From Whence It Came. And then noticed that it was suspiciously light...

Being of a curious bent, I opened it. And there, inside the box, resting confortably on a napkin, was my extra piece of bacon....