Iowa's Best and Brightest

I’m PMSing today. Such hormonal imbalances hijack my sense of reason each month and demand McDonalds. Honestly, I crave and eat McDonalds once a month, and once consumed, the yin falls back in line with the yang. Today, the urgency was directed towards a Super-Sized Big Mac Value meal. Unforgivable, I know.

There’s the shameless confession, now here’s the story…

After school, I proceed eagerly to McDonalds. I enter the drive through, and order a Super-Sized Big Mac Value Meal and a – damn, their ice cream machine is broken, no hot fudge sundae (why are McDonalds’ ice cream machines broken so often? It’s more than a pattern, but that’s another entry). “$6.34 at the first window.” I zip around, handover the plastic, and the cashier says, “Your card is ‘not approved.’” Huh. We’re on a tight budget, but there’s plenty of money in the bank (today). He tries again. And again. “I’m sorry ma’am, this card is no good.” Loudly – mind you, I notice two of my students in the car behind me in line. OK, well, never mind. I start to drive off, and he says, “Ma’am, aren’t you going to pay for your food?” We only bank with one debit card, so I cancel my order. My students are in hysterics.

I swing around the parking lot and call the bank for a balance check. Customer service rep: “Are they trying to run it through as a debit or credit?” They just ran it through; they don’t give you a choice. “Our credit system is down right now. We’re working on it, but you have to use your card as a debit in the meantime.” OK, this is good news. We’re not broke (this time). Knowing they have the little pin machines inside, I pull into the parking lot.

Note: Do I see this as a sign to avoid the massive caloric suicide I’m about to commit? Of course not – don’t mess with a hormonal woman on a mission.

So, I step up to the counter and order my Super-Sized Big Mac Value meal. Ice cream machine is still broken – damn. “That will be $6.34.” I explain that I need to run my card as a debit because my bank’s credit system is down, they’re working on it, but for now, I can’t use the card as a credit card. Blank, dumfounded stare. “Let me run it through… I’m sorry ma’am, your card is declined.” Right, we need to run it as a debit card because my bank’s credit system is down. Can we just run it through this seemingly debit machine with the little number buttons and 14 ATM company labels on it? “Let’s try it again… Nope, still declined.” Right, that’s because we still ran it through as a credit card. My bank’s credit system is down, so we need to run it as a debit. “One more time… Nope, still declined.”

At this point, the same managerial-type looking person who “assisted” at the drive-through window arrives at the counter to “assist” again. “Let’s see what’s going on here… (runs card again)… I’m sorry ma’am, your card is not approved.” Yes, that is what I was explaining to your cashier here, that my bank’s credit system is down, and we have to run the card through as a debit. How about this little debit card machine here? Isn’t there some kind of credit card override? More blank, dumbfounded stares.

Meanwhile, a line of increasingly impatient patrons is quickly developing behind me – even though there are two other registers and lots of other cashiers. An unknown gentleman from behind offers to buy my lunch. This was no lunch, lunch was two hours ago, dinner will be in three following. This was a binge. “Let’s try this... No, ma’am, this is a bad card.” No, you see, my bank’s credit system – and then I crack: Look, if you can’t figure out how to work your register, then I am happy to go eat somewhere else. Blank stares. I leave, humiliated and hormonally unappeased.

Just as I nearly make my face-saving escape, SEVEN cashiers/managers at the counter start yelling, “Ma’am! Ma’am!” The entire restaurant turns around to look at me. Great, now I look like I just robbed the McDonalds. (Headline: “Crazed hormonal woman stops at nothing to get her Big Mac.”) I reluctantly return to the counter – only to legitimize my patronage – and apologize to the now angry mob demanding their own bag of McDonalds satisfaction.

The “big” manager – an approximately 19-years-of-age gentleman, spiked hair in Mohawk formation, cross-eyed – hovers over the register with his seven loyal soldiers surrounding him. “What’s the problem, ma’am?” I’m sorry to cause a scene, I nearly whisper, but I was just trying to pay for my lunch and my bank’s credit system is down, so we have to run my card through as a debit, which I thought I could do on this little debit machine here with all the debit company labels on it, but the cashiers can’t figure out how to run it through as a debit card. “Let me try… Hmm, sorry ma’am, this card is not approved.” Right. You see, my bank’s credit system…

The unknown gentleman throws down a $20. “Look, this woman needs lunch” – sir, this is neither lunch nor dinner, and I really don’t need it at all – “I have 12 kids and 12 grandkids, one on the way. I do this all the time.” – how any of this relates to the situation at hand, I don’t know, but I’m in no position to ask. Instead, I awkwardly congratulate him on his expected grandchild?! “Let me pay for her food.” Oh God, now I’m back to being a poor, charity case. Thank you, sir, this really isn’t necessary. Why haven’t I left already?! The cashier announces to what seems like the entire restaurant, “Tell you what I’m going to do. You are a good man, sir! Your lunch is on me!” (As for this tramp trying to work the system with a fake credit card…)

The cashier gives the man his change, and while I have my food, I have no soda cup. I stall for a moment, and the manager looks at me confused, wondering what else I’m going to try to scam. “Can I help you with something?” May I have a cup for my Coke? I am given a medium-sized cup. There’s no way in hell I’m going to ask for the Super-Sized cup, which is why I ordered the Super-Sized meal to begin with. At this point I am shaking, sweating and covered in hives. I skulk quickly to the soda fountain, forego the delay of ice, fumble with the lid, forget a straw and nearly trip sprinting out to the car. After peeling out of the parking lot in shame, I burst into tears and swear to never eat at McDonalds again.

To top it all off, I won a free breakfast sandwich on my Big Mac box. Think they’ll take a debit card for the OJ?