Excuse Me, Is This Burger 100% People?

3 11 2013

My god I wanted hash browns the other day. And I don’t mean any sort of upper class, fancy-shmansy, brie and saffron, pan-seared golden Idaho potato cake. I’m talking bottom of the barrel, “I got these from the dumpster behind McDonalds,” sort of hash brown.

Well maybe not that bad. Let’s go with “I bought these at McDonalds.” That makes me sound less like a homeless dude who just spent his last $0.99 on a quarter short of sympathy tequila instead of food. I would not survive as a homeless dude.

Still, I wanted hash browns like pregnant women want any number of strange things that they (or any other human being, possibly the dog) would never eat normally. So I did in fact go to McDonalds, or as I now like to call it, ‘Heathen Burger.”

Curious about that? Let me paint you a picture.

Its 8 AM, I’m sitting at the traffic light outside of the little shopping/hotel/medical care/grocery store plaza, where this McDonalds can be found.
So I drive up in my Prius, round the one way section to the drive thru. I request a hash brown from the robot that lives inside the menu sign. She agrees to my demand to trade fried, greasy potato products for American dollars. I then pull around to what they refer to as the ‘second window.’

Once there I am finally met with a human being. She wore the classical McDonalds garb. A tabard bearing the golden arches and a hat bearing, I think probably grease.
She took my money and gave me my potatoes. The following exchange occurred.

Me: “Thanks, very much. Have a good day.”
Potato Merchant: “Why thank you sir, be well, and have a blessed day!”

Please note that the merchant’s comment was accompanied with a staring smile that made me wonder just what sort of alchemy/sorcery was used in the preparation of my hash browns.

I ate them anyway and they were delicious. Maybe magically so…

I took another drive around just to double check the menu at the drive thru. I’m thinking I’ll have to stop in again soon. The McSacrifce sounded awfully good.

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