While I was growing up my parents were convinced that McDonalds was a tool of American imperialism and refused to take us there.
When an adult I wasn’t all that into to their style of fast food anyway* with the net result that when, on the rare occasion The Boy forces me to that particular establishment, I am somewhat flummoxed when confronted with the McDonalds menu.
This, in turn, leads to the sort of laughable misunderstandings, much loved by a certain type of indie film.
Witness this exchange from the other night.
Me: “Ermmmmm. Ummmmmmmm. I believe I’ll have the ‘super happy fun meal’, thanks.”
Bored McDonald’s chick: “whaftawhaftawhafta fries with that?”
Bored McDonald’s chick (slightly louder): “whaftawhaftawhafta fries with that?”
Me: “Yes, I believe I will have a medium portion of chips with that, thanks.”
Bored McDonald’s chick: “whaftawhaftawhafta medium fries?”
Me: “Yes, medium chips sounds lovely, thanks.”
Bored McDonald’s chick (clearly deciding that I’m a dickhead and she wants me out of her queue): “whaftawhaftawhafta drinks as well?”
Me: “OK, can I see the wine list, thanks?”
Horrified McDonald’s chick: …………….
“We’re not allowed to sell alcohol, sir!”
Me: “OK, I’ll just have a Coopers Ale then.”
Honestly, I might as well be wearing a pince nez and frockcoat.
*Much more of a kebab man**, me.
**Especially after a couple of Coopers.