The Truth About Breakfast Platters, Christy, and Kids on the Lawn

After ordering a breakfast platter at McDonalds I paid and at the next window they handed me a sack breakfast.

"I had a platter," I said nicely.

"Oh, you were the platter. Please pull up and we'll bring it right out to you."

I pulled up and waited. And waited. And waited. After 10 minutes and watching 4 other customers behind me leave with their breakfasts, I called McDonalds on my cell phone. (I must be getting old, because I am the easiest person to get along with and I never used to do things like this. I know what comes next. It's yelling at kids to get off your lawn even though you let them play there for years.)

"McDonalds, this is Christy," she drawled in a raspy, southern, I-smoke-10-packs-a-day voice.

"I'm ...still...waiting on my...breakfast platter," I said firmly, channeling William Shatner.

"I'm bringing it right out to you (rasp rasp)."

"You've served 4 other people that were behind me."

"We were waiting on your eggs (hack hack)."

At this point I figured NOBODY else that ordered after me had eggs with their breakfast, because if they had, they would have been on MY platter first. After all, people don't expect eggs for breakfast at McDonalds and I must have been the first to order them even though it was mid-morning.

Christy was trained in dealing with somewhat irate customers.

"Here you go, sweetheart. Have a nice day."

"Thank you," I said, pulling the tied plastic bag through the window and setting it on the seat beside me.

Arriving home I untied the top of the bag and opened the platter lid to find a robin's egg sized blob of yellow scramble next to some hot cakes, sausage, and a biscuit. One wonders if they didn't have the heat up high enough to cook the poor thing faster...