McDonald’s

McDonald’s is McDonald’s and this is my local one. Dare I let on the amount of money I’ve spent at this place over my years of patronage? No. But it would be a very healthy sum (as healthy as my diet has been unhealthy, if you will. But that has changed in the recent past, thank god).
And my bulging waistline has bulged most here at McDonalds, because (as I am man enough to admit) Convenience and frequency are vices that I suffer from.
But why I torture myself to go here, when frequently, and often they get my order wrong (to my cost most of the time) is beyond me. The last time I made a severe complaint at this family restaurant I was accused of having «deliberately» messed up the order myself in the bag to make it look as if it was the servers fault. A few choice words and a stern demand to speak immediately to the franchise owner saw THAT particular hapless duty manager sent off to the coal mines (seriously I think they fired him! GOOD!)
Why do you get my order wrong, O Drummoyne McDonalds? Why can’t you get simple things right like bacon with an order? Or that I ordered two (not 1) Chicken McBite packs?
Someday I will learn my lesson, however. Yes. Convenience, and nothing more.