A Happy Meal Narrative Essay 1

Sizzling, greasy burgers were carelessly tossed onto the grill, while large amount of golden, crispy fries were dumped into the steaming fryer. Other fryers were pulled out and had salt poured all over the delectable looking fries. The outside sign read over one million served, and cars swarmed the parking lot. Upon opening the doors, the long line of anticipating customers leading up to the counter astounded my young blue eyes. The term fast food seemed an oxymoron. Standing there holding mother’s hand, I would try not to step on the cracks of the little white tile floor because I believed that they were made of lava; however, as reigning lava champion of my family, I turned my attention to the large black countertop and the humongous menu that loomed over my head. “Kids cheeseburger, Mom,” I would tell her. Sadly, my special order of no onions would likely go unheeded by the uncaring employees. To be honest, those pieces of saturated fat called cheeseburgers were decent at best. Yet, my mother was ensnared by the thought of fast, inexpensive food, so we went for as long as I can remember. The arch king of the world was our dining resting place, often several times a week, and I loved McDonalds.
My dad was constantly moving from one place to the other because he was in the United States Air Force. That would have been fine, but with two little kids it became a heavy burden for the family to bear. At this point, we were currently stationed in Coral Springs, Florida but only for six months. Due to the short amount of time we would be spending there, my toys, my entertainment, were locked away in storage. Little children require constant attention, especially when they have no toys, and that can drive parents to the brink of mental deterioration. With no toys anywhere to be found, I began to search desperately for a playmate; my little sister, who was four, did not meet my much older and exceedingly more mature playing style. Furthermore, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, rather than Barbie and Ken, allowed me to rough house and to run around with my spherical cardboard weapon previously referred to as a wrapping paper roll. Miss Cleo saw six months of adolescent depression in my future unless something was done immediately.
In a miraculous accident, we stumbled inside of a McDonalds. The previous mortifying five hours of starvation had been caused by my mother‘s desire to shop. So, my sister and I were drug, kicking and screaming, to endure a colossal waste of our lives. Losing a few pounds and a small portion of my manhood, I was ready to escape the ball-and-chain of my stroller. Shopping had not been the only terrifying incident: the sky was dark, and a thunderstorm, my biggest fear at the time, was brewing. So at first, I was reluctant to enter because I found comfort at home, not in a random lava-filled McDonalds in Florida. While this was not my first McDonalds trip, it was more than likely the most memorable, because I stumbled on a hidden treasure, a plastic bag that contained my happy meal toy.
A toy! The customers got little plastic toys in their happy meals. The mastermind behind this idea was a genius. He deserved a medal or even a commemorative plaque. Either way he had a special place in my heart; my toy dilemma had been resolved. Yet to obtain my newly acquired prize, I had to consume my entire happy meal. Unfortunately, patience was a virtue that I lacked. Chewing was soon forgotten, and, in my great haste, I swallowed big mouthfuls of fries and cheeseburger. Forcing salty fries and an onion-filled cheeseburger down my small esophagus disgusted and embarrassed my mother. She watched in dismay; finally, she caved. My mother unleashed my new toy car from its plastic cage, and food became an after thought. Vrooooooooom… Vroooooom.. I raced my car everywhere¾ over counters, tables, chairs, even my little sister’s head. Happily exiting the facility with my new toy in hand, I could not wait to return to the restaurant that provided me so much joy.
Realizing the great deal of pleasure our trip to McDonalds provided, my parents decided it would be the perfect place to keep me fed and to supply me with a small, relatively inexpensive form of entertainment. Lacking the danger of a catastrophic storm allowed me to further investigation into this new place of wonder. By far, this was the biggest McDonalds I had ever seen¾ even to this day. My mom, not willing to deal with more car noises in the restaurant, ushered me outside to play in the undiscovered playground. Walking out, I was blinded by the large jungle gym that laid before me and was overwhelmed with the amount of kids my age; I had walked into little kid heaven. Making sure to remove my power ranger shoes and to stash them safely into one of the fifty small cubby holes, I ran and plunged into the ball pit and buried myself completely. Containing more than twenty rambunctious kids, the ball pit was enormous. From the ball pit, a large pirate net extended upward into a system of inter-webbed tubes. Multi-colored with large windows on the side, the tubes allowed me to wave to my mom before descending down the spiraling blue slide. Eventually, I found a playmate and spent the afternoon playing with him in the playground or crashing our new happy meal cars. The McDonalds happy meal had evolved from a source of nourishment to a meeting place of hyper little kids. From the toy surprises to loads of fun at the playground, McDonalds transformed my Coral Springs stay from utter loneliness to exciting adventures in the ball pit of doom.
Since becoming a poor college students my friends and I often journey to McDonalds to explore the dollar menu. It allows to reminisce, while still enjoying the social atmosphere that the greasy cheeseburgers and golden crispy fries create. Upon exiting, I realize that fast food restaurants provide for a more social environment that almost all other foods lack.