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Don't get this clown pissed at you

"All right, fine, I'll have a Big Mac and fries," you sigh.

"Yay!" Ronald and his friends cheer. Ronald runs up to the counter and speaks to the workers in the kitchen area. "One Big Mac and one large order of fries, please!"

"Yes, sir!" one of the workers, a dark-haired young man about 14 years old, sings with a smile. Immediately, he and other workers start scurrying about to get your meal together. You have never seen McDonald's employees work as quickly and efficiently as this crew does.

"Geez," you say in astonishment. "How does Ronald get them to work like that?"

"Whaddaya mean?" Grimace asks in his stupid-sounding, Barney-the-dinosaur-like voice.

"I'm talking about the workers," you explain. "How does Ronald get them to work that hard?"

"Oh, them!" Grimace chuckles. "They're just very happy about what they do! They love to see you smile! They're lovin' it! You deserve a break today!"

Great, you think to yourself. You are trapped with a big purple blob who's spurting out McDonald's slogans from the past and the present.

A perky young blonde McDonald's worker brings your meal to you on a tray. "Here you are! I hope you enjoy your meal!" she says with a smile.

"I'm sorry," you say, putting your hand on her shoulder as she starts to walk off. "Did you, by chance, hold the pickles? I'm allergic to pickles."

"Why, yes," the girl replies. "Have it your way! Thank you!"

Upon hearing the words 'Have it your way,' Ronald's friends begin to act very strange. Grimace faints and slumps to the ground. Hamburglar and Birdie look like they're going to be sick.

Ronald's facial expression turns from friendly and cheerful to furious and vengeful. He storms over to the blonde girl and wags his finger at her. You are not certain if it is just you, but Ronald's white face paint seems to have taken on a shade of angry red. "Don't . . . ever . . . say things like that," he hisses at the blonde girl.

The blonde girl gulps and holds her palms up toward Ronald in a pleading gesture. "S-sorry, s-sir. I didn't m-m-mean any h-harm," she stammers.

"No more slogans from the 'other place,' or else," Ronald warns. "Do you understand what could happen?"

"Of c-course, sir. I'm so sorry. It won't happen again. Please . . . ."

"Get back to work!" Ronald barks. "Please."

The blonde girl scurries back to the kitchen. As soon as she disappears, Ronald's face loses its red color and returns to its regular white-painted appearance.

"Uh, Ronald, could I ask you something?" you say as you settle down in a booth with your meal.

"Absolutely!" Ronald exclaims. He sits down at the booth with you.

"Well," you say as you tear open a packet of ketchup, "I was just wondering why you reacted the way you did when that girl said . . . what she said."

"Oh, it's nothing you need to worry about," Ronald replies with a dismissive wave of his left hand. "Enjoy your Big Mac. It's two all-beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles . . . oh, never mind, you're allergic to pickles . . . onions on a sesame seed bun!"

"If someone were to continue saying slogans from other places out loud," you interrupt, "what would you do? Fire him?"

"I would have to fire him," Ronald says, the corners of his mouth slightly moving down into a frown. "I would also have to . . . ."

You decide. What would Ronald also have to do?

Written by an anonymous author

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