McMishap

Every morning the sun comes out and wakes me up. Like the inconsiderate dick that it is.

The problem is, there's a huge window in my bedroom and there's no shade. I've tried to get creative but I don't own anything big enough to cover the window. It's a problem.

So late tonight, I left my office and decided to swing by The Home Depot to buy a big tarp so I could make a shade. It was about 11pm and I hadn't had dinner, and when I walked in I couldn't help but notice a McDonalds inside the store.

McDonalds and I have an odd relationship. Since college, I've done my best to avoid McDonalds (and fast food in general) whenever possible. I've just learned too much about it and kind of want to never eat it again. The problem is, it's absurdly delicious and it's always up in my grill every time I'm driving.

I never plan to go to McDonalds. Like, I never say, "I'm hungry, I think I'll go to McDonalds." And 95% of the time I see a McDonalds, it doesn't cross my mind to go eat there.

But then there's the other 5% of the time. Those moments when I see a McDonalds and I have no choice. The scene is usually the same: it's late at night, I'm driving, I'm alone, and I'm starving. I pass a 24-hour McDonalds and my desire swells. I become immensely torn, until I see the happy little cartoon arrow indicating a drive-through and realize I don't even have to get out of the car. And it's done.

About 15 minutes after finishing, I always feel like hell, and think about all the heinous things I've learned about what's in McDonalds food, and wish I hadn't just eaten those glorious cheeseburgers and those absurdly delicious fries. It's not a good decision. But there are times when it's simply not up to me.

Tonight was one of those times. The Home Depot was about to close so I bought my tarp first and then left it with the cashier while I zipped over to the McDonalds at the other side of the store.

I got to the window and the cashier told me they had just closed. Though this was obviously a blessing in disguise, I said, "Really? There's nothing left?" You know you're in the midst of a moment of weakness when you're talking to the McDonalds cashier like she has the last available polio vaccine.

Sensing my longing, she turned to her coworker and asked her if there was anything left. She turned back around and told me there were no more burgers or fries but that she could make more nuggets.

Giddyup.

She asked me if I wanted a four, six, or ten-piece. "Get four," I thought to myself. "Four's plenty. No, get six. Six is perfect. More than four, but still not so many that I'll feel like death later. Perfect. Six it is."

"Ten please."

So she made my nuggets and when they were done, she put about four boxes in my bag. "Gave you some extra!" she said. Turns out I had 18 nuggets in my bag.

This wasn't good. I absolutely should not eat all 18 nuggets. That would be a terrible decision.

But what the hell am I supposed to do? Throw them away? In all their succulence?

I figured I'd start driving and figure it out. So I drove home, eating one glorious nugget after the other, and never had any chance of stopping. It was completely out of my control. There was nothing I could do.

I got back to my apartment and already felt like I had been impregnated by a manatee. Then I reached in the backseat for my tarp and realized I had left it at The Home Depot.

I made a one-hour errand so I could eat 18 Chicken McNuggets.