Holy Shnikeys!!!

For years I've heard reports of people calling 911 on a number of fast food restaurants when less than appropriate service was given.  Offenses ranging from breakfast no longer being available to Mickey D's running out of McNuggets.  All these years, upon hearing of these incidents, I was left scratching my head, bewildered by the stupidity and naivety of people's use of the emergency number.  Earlier tonight, I finally came to understand the frustration these people must have experienced.

It's been, at least, a couple of months since my last visit through the drive-thru at McDonald's.  Although buying fast food is hardly within my budget, I've been doing well in not wasting cash, lately and didn't feel like slaving over a hot stove and grill for sustenance tonight.  I was craving apple pie and decided, on the fly, to step into the nearby McDonald's to grab a quick meal deal and some apple pie.

I was shocked when I entered the restaurant, as they've all but done away with counter staff, replacing all with giant video screens, ushering patrons to point and click on what food purchases they crave.  I quickly went to my usual meal, the Quarter Pounder with Cheese and was shocked to learn the price had skyrocketed.  I'd been through the drive-thru a couple of months ago and the cost of the burger meal was a shade over the six dollar mark, but today the screen shone $9.85 back in my face.  That's nearly a four dollar rise.  I figured this was a mistake and went to the one and only counter person left in the establishment.

She was of a, shall we say, landed immigrant persuasion.  There's nothing wrong with that, but English was not her native tongue and had no idea what my concern was.  Confused, she ushered the shift supervisor over to assist me.  Sadly, his English was equally as poor.  I'm thinking that McDonald's had placed the video purchase kiosks in, specifically so people didn't have to battle the substantial language barrier with their kitchen staff.  I explained my concern that it was impossible that the price of a quarter pounder would jump nearly four dollars in less than two months, but through his broken English, I was able to learn that not only had the price of all the food at McDonald's had risen, but it had done so, several times over that two month time period.  I was shocked.

I was flabbergasted, vocalizing my disdain.  I pointed out that I could get a burger across the street, at Wendy's for less money and it would cost less.  He blankly stared at me, incapable of comprehending what I'd just said.  "So you want the quarter pound burger, sir?"

"No thanks!" I said, adding that the price was a rip-off to their customers.  "All I really wanted was apple pie.  Do you know if Wendy's across the street has apple pie?"

"I don't know what they sell there, sir.  Do you still want the quarter pound burger?"

"No, I don't want the burger.  That price is bullsh....  It's complete bull." I said.  "I want to swear, right now, it's so wrong!  Why did the price go up so drastically?  It's obvious you don't need the money for counter staff."

He parted his lips to reveal a crooked smile and answered, "No sir.  It's to adjust for the exchange rate."

"Exchange rate?  But Canadian McDonald's get all their meat and supplies from Canadian suppliers."

He continued to smile at me, "Do you want the apple pie?"  I asked how much and found that aside from the $1 drinks, the apple pie was the only other reasonably priced item on the menu.  $1.65 for two, albeit tiny, apple pies.

I paid for my fruity pastries and drove across the street to the Wendy's.  There were two police cruisers parked in the lot and I was tempted to report the robbery that McDonald's was committing on their loyal patrons, but didn't go through with the farce as I'm not a f*cking lunatic, but I did come to understand the frustration those people must have experienced in their unfortunate dealings with those fast food restaurants.

The burger wasn't any cheaper from Wendy's, but it tasted a helluva lot better than McDonald's ever could on their best day.  At least I got a Vanilla Rootbeer from Wendy's which was worth the extra couple of bucks, in the long run.

A very long time ago, I had decided to boycott McDonald's.  My goal was to not step foot inside or eat any of their food for a ten year stretch, and if my nephew hadn't been born, I would've made it to that goal, but unfortunately, in his youth, he wanted to go to McDonald's and my goal fell short by. literally, about six months.  After that, I continued my visits, as the prices were reasonable, though the food was shit.  Today, the food is STILL shit, but the prices are even shittier.  I feel another boycott coming.  Maybe this time I'll shoot for twenty years!

Karma is a Pain In The Ass

It is granted that I'm not active by any sense of the word, though lately, I've been leaving the house and getting out in the world more frequently than I was a few months ago, even though I'm essentially a glorified purse holder for my gal pal, Melissa.  She would argue that I purchase as often as she does, but her regular haunts are hardly places where I would freely purchase wares.

Usually a few hours out and about, results in my legs cramping up and my back getting unusually sore.  In January of 2014, I injured my spine really bad, an injury that left me with three compression fractures in three different vertebrae.  My T3, 4 and 5 were broke with patterns that reminded me of a spider web or a smashed car window.  I was reassured by medical professionals that I had nothing to worry about.  That there was little or no chance of any rogue pieces splintering off and dissecting my spinal cord.  Trusting their word, I continued to live life, albeit a lot more subdued.  Not that I was B.A.S.E. jumping or racing dune buggies, but my options, I felt, were limited after that.

After finishing treatment from my lovely physiotherapist, Elissa, I was unemployed and left to recover from other injuries sustained from my fall on the job.  Money being limited, I stayed pretty close to home, choosing to live vicarious adventure through heroes and characters viewed on my television set, rather than venturing into extracurricular activities.  I'd still go for walks in the park, with my boy, Monkey, just for a change of scenery, beneficial to him as well as myself, but mostly I stuck close to home.  My back never gave me much issue.  No overindulgence equaled very little, if any, pain and discomfort. 

Winter came, and unfortunately, my snow blower still won't start [*Boycott: Home Depot], resulting with my having to clear my two-and-a-half driveway (meaning I have room for two automobiles across plus space for a small RV).  It's a back-breaking process, excuse the pun.  Lately, with the abundant snowfall we've received, I've opted to only clearing a path from the street to my front door, in addition to the city walk in front of my house.  The last time I tackled that endeavour, was midway last week.  My back had stiffened, but hardly gave me issue.  Yesterday, my sixty-eight year old mother came to my house for supper, but before coming into the house, unbeknownst to me, she took it upon herself to clear a respectable patch of snow and ice and did so in half the time it takes me to do a patch half as wide.

It wasn't until her actions caught the attention of my cat, that I became aware of her actions.  I'm appreciative, but rushed outside to scold her of her actions.  She's sixty-eight years old, for f*ck sake.  A sixty-eight year old, who recently informed me that she requires a hip replacement.  What the f*ck is she thinking?  She reluctantly let go of the shovel and went inside, as I replaced the road salt that had been flung onto my snow covered lawn, an action that should reveal some interesting patterns of murdered grass, come springtime.

We watched a couple movies that she'd not seen before and had, what she described, was a tasty supper, before she left for home.  I laid down on the sofa, like I've done a thousand times before, over my eight year tenure at this address.  I chose a previously recorded show to watch and fell asleep, like usual.  About four hours later, I woke up with a desperate need to pee.  I expected to jump up and rush across the living room, but instead, I experienced a sharp shooting pain down my spine.  A blistering shot that is reminiscent of the early days that followed my initial injury.  There was no mad rush, but a slow painful hobble.

The great deal of discomfort I've felt in the hours that have passed, is unimaginable.  I'm hunched, fighting to straighten up to walk upright.  Sleeping was a little better, being that my mattress is ideal for sore ailing backs, and without a pillow under my head, was able to sleep in.  I'm walking a little more upward than I was last night and with a greater pace.  Getting up and mobilized is incredibly sore, however.  I'm hoping this recent flare-up is due to a sudden and dramatic drop in outside temperature, the barometric pressure wreaking havoc on old injured bones.  Especially, given that I need to go for a physical regarding this new job I'm trying out for.

I don't believe in luck, but I do believe in karma.  I don't know what I did in this life or what anyone could have done in a past life, to deserve as much bullshit as I've endured in this life, but holy f*ck!!!  When is enough going to be enough.