What’s changed: McDonalds or me?
Once I hit 40, many things in my life started to change; I started sounding like my grandfather whenever I would fight gravity getting out of bed or off the floor. My stomach began to make incredibly scary rumbling sounds whether I was hungry or not. And the “fast” in fast food which used to mean the speed in which you received your order, now means the speed in which the food leaves my body. I used to be able to eat at McDonalds 3 times a week and never have a single issue with it. I remember once during an after school practice in high school I ate a McRib sandwhich for dinner 5 nights in a row without any intestinal distress. Now, however, it seems like I’m renting the food from McDonalds, as I tend to leave it at the restaurant in one form or another. Even though I’ve now weaned myself off the McFood, my body still has issues even being in the building. The last time I took my kids to a McDonalds, I barely finished ordering their food before I had to find the door with a little McMan on it.
Is it me, or has the food at these restaurants changed dramatically? Remember when the fries were so good you could actually smell them when a commercial came on TV? Or how a large fry and a coke would cure the worst hangover? Sadly, those days are gone and my iron constitution can no longer process the processed food.
In a fit of hunger and geographical necessity, I was forced a few months back to eat at one such McDonalds. I ordered the simplest thing on the menu to try and calm the monster in my stomach, and not piss it off at the same time. A single plain burger, small fries and a coke. A happy meal without the happy. The burger tasted like it always did, not great, not horrible. The fries were missing that special “McDonalds fry” taste, and just tasted like hot potato grease. The coke however, was still amazing. Why is that? Why is a coke from McDonalds so much better than out of the can? What is their secret “syrup to water” ratio that makes it taste so refreshing? I finished my meal, and went back to my car listening to my stomach monster screaming either “thank you” or “I hate you”, I couldn’t tell which. After about a 20 minute drive home, I realized that I was going to have to either greatly exceed the speed limit or pull over very soon. Nature was calling and it wasn’t going to leave a message. My stomach monster seemed to be having a loud and nasty fight with my intestinal monster and it wasn’t going to end well. Thanks to some well timed stoplights and a lack of traffic, I made it home. Barely. Pulling my car into the garage like a Nascar driver crossing the finish line, I ran into the house. Actually, I wouldn’t call it running so much as a very quick “waddle” while trying to fly out of my jeans. I made it just in time, and I will spare you the details of the event. Let’s just say it was a “3 People event”. That means it lasted the length of 3 People magazines.
And what is it with People magazines these days? I remember growing up and looking at them in the checkout aisle at the grocery store. They were always filled with stories of interesting strangers who became famous for their incredible bravery or amazing recovery. Now its become the 3 Little Bears of the entertainment industry. This actress is too fat, this actress is too thin, this actress is just right but has a secret meth lab and an addiction to plastic surgery. (I’m sorry, I mean she is a victim of plastic surgery syndrome.) I’ve often thought that People magazine should just be printed on flushable paper to begin with. Then I can read about an out of work, overweight actress who got kicked off “Celebrity Fit Club” for actually gaining weight, and then wipe up my business with the story and never have to see it again. Ahh, dreams, but I digress…
I’m wondering how my body’s growing conflict with McDonalds food will progress. When I’m 50 will I have immediate cramps when I pull into the parking lot? When I’m 60 will I feel the call of nature whenever I see the golden arches approaching? When I’m 70 will I shuffle off to the bathroom anytime I see the letter M?
Ronald, you’re not a very funny clown anymore.