Formal Revision by Aaron Hupp

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 were locked away in storage. Little children require constant attention, especially when they have no toys, and that can drive parents to the point of breaking down. 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. Even Miss Cleo, the fortune teller, could see six months of adolescent depression in my future unless something was done immediately.
After shopping one day, we miraculously stumbled inside of a McDonalds. The previous five hours had been mortifying and full of torture because my mother forced my sister and me to endure a painful shopping trip. Upon arriving at McDonalds, 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 McDonalds in Florida.
Sizzling, greasy burgers were carelessly tossed onto the grill, while large amounts of golden, crispy fries were dumped into a steaming fryer. Other fryers were pulled out and covered with salt. The outside sign read “Over one million served,” and cars swarmed the parking lot. Opening the doors of the restaurant, the long line of anticipating customers leading to the counter astounded my young blue eyes.
The term fast food seemed an oxymoron. Standing there in the long line 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 because it was more than just a restaurant. It was a place of family bonding and fun.
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 received little plastic toys in their happy meals. The mastermind behind this idea was indeed 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, a new dilemma arose. 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 throat disgusted and embarrassed my mother. She watched in dismay; finally, she caved. My mother unleashed my new toy car from its plastic bag, and food became an after thought. Vrooooooooom Vroooooom.. I raced my car everywhere over counters, tables, chairs, and 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 and I think my parents had discovered a solution to our perpetual boredom.
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. On our next visit, the lack of a catastrophic storm allowed me further investigation into this new place of wonder. By far, this was the biggest McDonalds I had ever seen—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 lay 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 with the ball pit of doom.
Now a poor college student, my friends and I often journey to McDonalds to explore the dollar menu. It presents me an opportunity to reminisce and to enjoy the social atmosphere that the greasy cheeseburgers, crispy fries, and inviting play place create. I now realize that fast food restaurants provide a more social environment that almost all other foods lack. It seems ironic that a big corporation trying to make money can become a place of family bonding. That’s really all McDonalds is; it offers time to squeeze in a quick meal and even an opportunity to socialize with your family.