"I'm Lovin' It"

Today was one of those days. I'm ill, yet dragged myself into the 'ffice in full-on required business attire to get things done, work-wise. I did get things accomplished, yet went through the day in a kind of professional haze only an invalid or drugged person can pull off. I was completely cracked out. Cold meds & antibiotics tend to have that effect on me.

I felt bad bc I did not want to infect the co-workers, so stayed mainly to myself. Boss told me I could go home the second I got in, but there's a reason they pay me the big bucks (I work pro bono). Throughout the day, I had no appetite, but sketched home at lunch for some barely edible squash soup since my kitchen resembles a 1984 Soviet grocery store sans Stalin propaganda (alcohol, a few bread crumbs, weak soup and little else).

Naturally, circa 5pm, I was hungrier than a Biggest Loser contestant. I pushed it until about 515. Then, I hit McDonald's. My relationship with this fast food giant is long-standing, and well, intense.

If you are a person who judges me for loving McDonald's, go right ahead. That food was probably the last thing a sick person should eat for dinner, yet it was the only thing I wanted. I <3 Mickey D's. I have since I was young. My parents actually conditioned me to love it, since they basically got it for me often as a reward or special treat. I'm pretty convinced I equate this fast food chain with familial comfort and/or success.

Apparently, when I was under one year old, my parents swear I had the ability to recognize McDonald's signs and communicate my excitement to them (I was a brat from birth, apparently).

When I was a child, I would only eat plain hamburgers (and fries, obvi) with nothing on them, inherited from my dad, the pickiest, most spoiled Irish son around. To this day, I still don't rock cheeseburgers, but def don't throw tantrums when the usual stuff is on the burger.

In Grade 6, we had to make a collage to show what was important in our lives -- one of the biggest things on this lame-o collage was a McDonald's fry picture. Not kidding.

McDonald's is the ultimate hangover cure. I fondly remember strolling through K Street's crack park with co-worker J to grab some much needed grease @ the drama-filled franchise on New York Ave. McDonald's, in this economy, is something a poverty-stricken law school graduate can readily afford. There was a faithful one not several blocks from the beloved masochist intellectual paradise known as the law school library.

Abroad in England and France last winter, I visited McDonald's. It was delicious in both countries -- a tad different, yet gave me everything about home I craved. It was quick, easy, and comforting (that's what she said). I got such a kick out of attempting to order it in my broken, awkward, and incorrect French (apparently, my attempt to say Evian in a French accent ordered me a helicopter -- who knew?).

When I lived in DC, I once took a cab to McDonald's on New Year's Day at night because I needed it that badly. I have had numerous cab drivers take me through the drive-through after nights of revelry. The Adams Morgan McDonald's had the unfortunate pleasure of receiving an inebriated me and my buddy D many a time. We once cut an entire line of drunk people with the type of manifest destiny that can only be executed by Americans abroad, aggressive 1L gunners, and Oprah. D once demanded, unsuccessfully that she receive a McFlurry instead of a drink. Though her pleas went unanswered, her commitment to only consuming perfectly round McNuggets never wavered (I happily ate the gun and boot-shaped castoffs).

McDonald's has seen me through thick and thin. What did my parents get me when I made the honor roll, or totaled the family car (but lived to tell the tale)? McDonald's. When I lost 8 lbs sophomore year of college and was wasting away from mono, what did Mom and Dad feed me to keep me on this planet? You get the picture.

So naturally, as a hungry, ill person, I motored the Camry on to the drive-through. Now, having seen the epic film Super-Size Me with my Boston-bred buddy D, I assure you all, I am not a "heavy user" (read: visit 2-3x/week). But I do grab one type of fast food per week.* I've been known to dabble in Wendy's, BK, and (gotta love the South) Chik Fil-A. But McDonald's is my number one.

And then I saw the sign and remembered -- it's Monopoly at McDonald's season! Not even in the same leagues as Christmas, wedding, or Olympic (they're a sponsor!) season, but something to be excited about nonetheless. After all, my day had been declared a wash. I was hacking coughs, there was no gym possibility to be had, and let's face it, the only thing that was truly going to be busy was my DVR that evening. However, there is a great hope that accompanies Monopoly at McDonald's: the possibility of imminent, if not immediate, wealth from merely partaking in a simple, ritual American pleasure.

What is more American dream than winning megabucks whilst swilling American classic cuisine? I remember being in middle school with a friend and feeling convinced at the mall that I had won the million via the coveted Park Place/Bdwalk combo (one stamp was waiting at home from a previous visit). We hadn't even gotten home and I think I had practically spent the money in my head. As odds, and the lucky fast food behemoth would have it, we had two Park Places. Bummer. So naturally, I am still hunting the Holy Grail of wealth, Monopoly style.

In the drive-through, I literally plotted my meal around the Monopoly McDonald's strategic menu. After all, only certain food/drink selections earn you stamps. And, clearly, I wasn't about to do hash browns or a 20 pc McNugget tonight. Why did I order the large fry? To get Monopoly stamps, of course. I have many vices, but don't gamble -- this is about as close as I come. But, let's face it, I'm 27 and in ridiculous educational debt, so gaining anything from this silly contest would basically make my life. So I scarfed down the food with my usual, trans fat loving zeal, and braced myself as I peeled the two stamps. Not gonna lie, I felt that rush that makes me relieved I don't live near a casino. Would I win the Playstation advertised on the bag, or even a $500 Shell gas card (how baller would that be?)? Well, a lame Reading Railroad and Virginia Avenue stamp later, there was no big win, but there is much potential. And I felt better. And I am saving these stamps since I know there will be future visits to try and win big.


* Fast food does not include Chipotle, Five Guys, or Panera. These places are fast casual and do not factor into this number, obvi. I know, I am disgusting. Judge away, haha.