The 'Happy Meal'

When I was a kid, the most common symbol of your maturity was what you ordered at McDonald’s. We all started off with the iconic Happy Meal. The toys were great, but the prestige you earned when your parents said “He’ll have a Number Two” was better. Now, we bask in the glory of Big Macs and Premium McWraps under the Golden Arches. Two years into my college career, I am proud to report that my meal of choice is the Quarter Bacon and Cheese, when it’s not the Southwest McWrap--far from the immaturity of that ancient artifact of my childhood…However, two years into my college career, I’ve started thinking about those Happy Meals again.

I blame my employer. Working on the Crew at the Grayson McDonald’s sees me cooking up and assembling patties faster than they’re ordered, and on occasion I get the chance to go to the window and present my craft. Most items can huddle together at the bottom of the bag, buried under a tome of napkins. But the Happy Meal stands alone.

Cheeseburger Happy Meal from McDonalds.com

The Happy Meal, in her ruby and gold box, demands attention. She beckons the approval of the backseat judge, sitting on his royal, plush car-seat awaiting immediate satisfaction. She is the rubric of my success: a product of painstaking seconds spent creasing wax-paper encasements and sealing the fate of my employment. The weary parent’s arm descends to collect the tribute from my sanitized hands. It pivots back in a familiar way. The magistrate splits the seal and inspects the Meal. My entire childhood was spent as an investment at McDonald’s: trying to educate myself, ask smart questions, and get into college so I could escape the shame of ordering the Happy Meal. But now, as I give away the box I once rejected, I recognize its value.

The Happy Meal symbolizes a covenant. Never, in my year working at McDonald’s, have I encountered someone who dines with us because what we serve is extraordinarily high quality, incredibly healthy meals. By contrast, I’ve encountered hundreds of people who come to our kitchen because it’s fast, convenient, clean, and friendly. My job, then, is to do my part to make coming through our doors and drive-thru the best part of their day. I am trusted to see this promise through.

I am reminded of this promise every time I surrender a Happy Meal at the second window. I await the verdict. Sometimes we succeed, inducing a bright smile, giggles or applause, relief from the driver, jumping in the seat...maybe even a wave through the tinted windows. And sometimes we fail, the reaction both equal and opposite.

In that way, the Happy Meal also symbolizes life--a life filled with small, simple things that can inspire, teach, and demonstrate. From these simple observations, we come to understand. This understanding begets a deep empathy and compassion we so desperately need.

This is the chronicle of my pursuit of Happy Meals.