If you have to give someone a hard time about their food order, make it be the lady who’s asking you to weave a mat of fries to sit atop her double-pattied, half-ketchupped, quad-mayoed, double top-bunned bacon cheddar chicken sandwich with honey and pickles on the side.

Apparently not wanting “ranch sauce” on my McDonald’s food warranted a call to a manager because, I don’t know, only fucking terrorists hate drippy white chemicals on their McSnackWraps™©®. No, I don’t want it on the side. The only “side” it should be on is outSIDE of my bag. Ten minutes later, we got it all straightened out, and I got the McEquivalent of a chicken taco from Taco Bell.

Lesson learned. Drive the extra mile. Run for the border. The McRisk isn’t worth it. For the record:  not lovin’ it.


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