Say it with me:
Two all-beef patties,lettuce, cheese,special sauce,pickles, onions,all on a sesame-seed bun (or something like that).
Everyone knows what's on a Big Mac, right? I mean, even if you can't quite remember all of the the "Big Seven" ingredients of your garden-variety Big Mac, they've got pictures smattered across the walls of every McDonald's on the planet where you can look and visibly SEE what's on the damn thing. The borders are set, and there simply is no room for culinary whimsy at the hands of those who construct this sandwich.
Last night, I hit the McDonald's drive-thru in my town to pick up a Big Mac and some fries. It's not something I usually do, but considering that the population of my fridge consists of a piece of cheese, half a lemon, a bowl of filberts and an unopened forty-ounce bottle of malt liquor, a Big Mac seemed like a healthy dinner.
So, I get home with my foodstuffs, open the little cardboard carton, pick up my Big Mac and immediately realize, Hey? This thing seems pretty light for a Big Mac. Why doesn't it weigh as much as it used to? Have I been taking steroids? Is this how it feels for Barry Bonds when he eats a Big Mac?
I begin to investigate by pulling the sesame-seed bun apart. Well... There's the special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions... wait a minute. Where's the beef?
After poking around the Big Mac's innards a bit with my finger for a bit and finding no sign of anything resembling its cardinal ingredient, I hopped in my Jeep and drove BACK to McDonald's to confront those responsible for my NO all-beef patty Big Mac.
I stormed into the store with the bag in my hand and approached the smiley-faced teenager oozing perkiness all over the counter.
"Can I help you?" She asked.
"Yes," I said. "I was just in your drive-thru, and I ordered a Big mac, and I drove home, and I opened it up, and you guys forgot to put meat on my Big Mac."
"Let me see," she asked.
I thought that was an odd question, but I yanked the carton from the bag, opened it up, pulled the sandwich apart and showed her my lack of beef.
"See?" I said. "Where's the beef? I have no beef. Why did you not put two all-beef patties on this?"
"I thought you ordered it 'meatless,'" she said.
"Meatless?!?" I said incredulously. "What kind of molar-grinding freak orders a meatless Big Mac?!?"
"Some people do, sir," she replied. "Vegetarians sometimes order them."
"Trust me," I said. "Rather than cough up two-and-a-half bucks for a meatless Big Mac, I think most vegetarians would choose from one of your many available salad options."
"No, sir," she said oozing perkiness, "it's kind of like a salad you can eat while driving."
I spent some time trying to wrap my mind around this as she wandered into the back to get me a not-so-meatless Big Mac. A salad sandwich... just... doesn't... add... up...
"Here you go, sir," she said as she handed me a bag that felt like it had about twenty pounds of beef in it.
I'm so weak, I thought as I hefted the heavy bag. I'm so feeble. I'm so... HOLY CRAP! What the hell's in this bag?
As I was walking out, I opened the bag and saw a Big Mac carton, two Quarter Pounders with Cheese and a big, red bucket of fries.
"Have a nice night, sir," the girl said. "Sorry about the mix-up."
"Thanks," I said as I lugged my big bag of meat out to my car thinking that McDonald's customer compensation program seems a lot like attempted murder by plugging up the arteries of anyone foolish enough to voice a complaint.