The people who run McDonald’s have got to be some of the cleverest product-peddlers anywhere in the world. I say that because I realized this morning we must have driven-thru the golden arches four or five times over the weekend. Granted, I didn’t buy a single food item, but I would’ve given a lot of money to the Quik-E-Mart in the past few days, but Ronald and company got my cash instead – and I got a discount.
It’s the drinks, you see. The last few summers, they’ve been offering large drinks for $1.00, and you don’t even have to buy yourself a cheeseburger. For me, this is an epic bonanza of good fortune.
As my wife and anyone else who’s ever driven further than the end of a driveway with me will no doubt attest, I have a drinking problem. No, not that kind of drinking problem. But on any given day, I likely consume a larger volume of fluid than the amount of crude BP is spurting out into the Gulf of Mexico.
Well, maybe that’s a little exaggerated. Still, the likelihood of someone crossing my path at a moment when I do NOT have a beverage handy stands roughly equivalent to the odds of me winning Miss Teen USA next month. I take a drink with me in the car every morning, I have something to drink at my desk all day long, and you can safely bet that my cup holder isn’t empty on the commute home. At any point in the evening, my kids know that they can ask for a hit of whatever I’m drinking without fear of being told I’m dry.
Obviously, I’m not talking about the hard stuff, here, because in that case my liver would be roughly the size of Indiana and more pickled than your average kosher dil. No, instead, I’m usually rockin’ something like Coke Zero, iced tea, Diet Coke, or the occasionally iced coffee or Diet Mt. Dew. My coworkers mock me for my “beverage issues”, and my wife has taken to rolling her eyes whenever I say “I’m stopping for a drink” just as we mount up in the family Odyssey en route for weekend adventure. Well, truth be told, it’s the eye-roll if I’m lucky; sometimes there’s the Unhappy Glare of Irritation, the suggestion that I’ve Got To Be Kidding, or worse, the Scathing Desire to Know What’s Wrong With Me.
Her various reactions are understandable and well-founded. A 37 year-old adult male should not really need a drink on hand at every waking moment of the day as if it’s some kind of security blanket. I’m willing to live with that though. I never had a woobie, so I’m ok with being dependent on a 32-ounce plastic cup.
Thankfully, at least McDonald’s has my back. Large summer drinks for $1.00 a piece can hardly be mocked by my better half (who has been known to get a beverage of her very own), especially when no one even has to get out of the car. Getting out of the car prompts a resounding chorus of “Can I go in too?” from the little people in the peanut gallery, and makes my 45 second dash inside into a 4 minute debate on why an ICEE is not an option at the moment.
Well-played, McDonald’s execs, well-played, indeed!