One Double Burger, One Plain

Being from the British Isles my Mother used some odd words interchangeably.  

Filthy, disgusting, and revolting were three of them. 

Was something “filthy” or “disgusting”? Or a happy combo like disgustingly revolting? 

I don’t know. With parents go figure. Their actions often contradicted what they said most of the time.

I guess in my Mom’s case – her mood dictated what word she’d use.

For example, she said 7/11 Slurpees were “filthy.” That was a head-scratcher for my eight-year-old brain. Since Slurpees came out of a machine where was the dirt?

Or if there was an adult situation or…ahem nudity in a movie she would say the word “disgusting ” although sometimes she might smile while saying that which was even more confusing to my young mind.

Okay, so where am I going with all this? And what do my Mother’s critical pronouncements have to do with my story?

Well, I’m gonna tell ya l, but first let me regale you about one of the most exciting happenings that occurred in Santa Clara, California back in 1964 – the opening (drumroll, please) of MCDONALD’S!

Ah yes, McDonald’s the fabled mecca of kiddie eateries, the Valhalla of children’s restaurants, the Bacchanalia of fatty foods, and the orgy of tempting treats that forever corrupted our young palates.

That’s right, I’m talking about “THE MCDONALD’S,” with its fabled golden arches that beckoned the young and the old alike with its delicious waftings of French fries,  grilled cheeseburgers, and Frosty shakes.

Now in retrospect, I believe that my mother’s snooty approximations were based on her formative years in England during World War II. 

Like many of her generation, she was raised to believe that many things American were often crude, loud, and often in bad taste.

Case in point, one day, as the War was winding down, my mother (who was a young girl at the time) and her aunt Midge were out having tea. Suddenly the tea shop door crashed open and in walked none other than General George “Blood and Guts” Patton and his entire entourage.

He must have cut quite a figure as he came in wearing riding spurs and carrying two pearl-handled revolvers holstered at his waist. 

It didn’t take long before his loud and rude behavior disrupted everyone’s “proper” tea time at the cafe.

Anyway, the General at one point glared at my Mom and said: “What are you staring at little girl?”

“You!” she said, failing to be intimidated.

General Patton snorted, waved her off like a pesky fly, and continued to scream and wave his riding crop at the restaurant staff who scurried about like ants on a hot sidewalk.

Later my mother asked her aunt who the obnoxious fellow was.

To which Midge replied –  “That, my dear,  was another – VULGAR. AMERICAN.”

Suffice it to say that after my Mom immigrated to America in 1953, she carried a lot of baggage from Good Old Blighty. Translated: Opinions that were often viewed as snobbish, erroneous, and completely out of sync with American culture.

Well, she didn’t care, she spoke her mind and the rest be damned.

So, you can imagine our crushing disappointment when she told me and my kid brother, Matty, that McDonald’s was “disgusting” and not worth visiting.

“Why do you think McDonald’s is bad, Mom,” I asked.

“Because they serve nothing but Junk Food,” she said.

“What’s “Junk Food”?” said Matty.

“CRAP!” she said.

Anyone who has ever raised children knows how kids are?  You tell them “No” or that somethin’s bad for them and they immediately want it.

So every day it was “Mom! When are we gonna go to McDonald’s?” Or “We don’t want hot dogs for dinner, WE WANT MCDONALD’S!!” Or even worse “Mom? Can we have McDonald’s for breakfast?”

Well, a parent can only take so much nagging before they eventually lay down the law or cave in.

And so, after six months of listening to our constant whining, my mother finally gave in and said she’d take us to the legendary House of Crap (her humorous nickname for Mickey Ds).

But, on one condition – we could only spend a dollar.

“A dollar for each of us?” I said.

“No, one dollar for all three of us,” said my Mother. 

“One buck? But, that’s nothing!” we wailed.

“And I expect change,” she added in a tone that brooked no argument.

Okay, even though by today’s standards a dollar seems laughably paltry, back then you could get a couple of burgers, small fries, and more than one soft drink for under a buck, which was a great deal for a family on a budget.

So, a begrudging agreement was struck, and off we went.

I’ll never forget that beautiful Spring day, the sun was shining, the excitement for us was epic, and the parking lot to the restaurant was woefully filled to the hilt.

It was as if the County’s entire population had parked there. For about thirty minutes we circled the lot, unable to find a spot to park the family station wagon.

Finally, as luck would have it, an old Volkswagen pulled out of its space and Mom darted in and parked.

I was handed a single dollar bill and was told to take Matty and bring back something edible – if possible.

“Change!” hollered my Mom as we scrambled out of the car and headed towards the end of the long line coming out of the restaurant.

Waiting patiently in line presented a bit of a problem as Matty continuously whined about having to pee and I was doing my best not to not scratch n’ sniff the hellish butt rash I had recently developed

Eventually, we made it to the window where a pimply-faced teenager wearing a soda-jerk cap asked us what we wanted to order.

Staring at the neon-lighted menu and bathed in heavenly aromas of burgers and fries from the kitchen I was struck completely dumb. 

I had no idea what to order – I was completely overwhelmed by the cornucopia of tasty food items listed.

“Uhhhhh…,” I said.

“C’mon kid, there’s a ton of people waiting to order,” said Pimply. 

Staring frantically at the garishly lit menu I saw the words “DOUBLE BURGER,” (Cue Angelic Chorus: “Aaaaaaaahhhhhh!!”)  and was immediately struck with an undefinable lust.  The mere idea that I could get twice the amount of meat in a sandwich made my stomach growl with anticipation.

Yeah, I had to have it, no matter what the cost.

I’ll just go cheap on the other stuff I thought.

“Uh…I’ll take one Double Burger and one Plain, please.”

“What else?”

“I want a Double Burger too,” wailed  Matty, sensing he was destined to get the inferior burger.

“Quiet Matty. Two small cokes and a 7up. Oh, and gimme two small fries plus one of those fish sandwich things,” I said, thinking my mom would like fish.

“I hate fish,” said Matty.

“Shaddup, Squirt,” I said, grabbing the bag after paying the bill.

Moments later, my Mom said she loved the hamburger I bought her.

“It reminds me of a British Wimpy,” she said, smacking her lips.

“That’s great, Mom,” I said.

Matty gave me a vindictive look of triumph as he took a big bite out of his “plain” hamburger.

And me?

I ended up stuck with the crummy fish sandwich that no one else had wanted.