As this is my first article in the Harriton Banner, I went on a deep emotional journey in order to think of the most pressing issues to cover. It was kind of boring. But then, perhaps out of a dream or nightmare, I remembered literally the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me. My one on one, super saucy, date with the esteemed Ronald McDonald.

I know what you’re probably thinking: “Why not the Burger King?”

Like, yeah, he’s totes cooler. But Ronnie simultaneously stole my heart and gave me heartburn the moment I met him. Much unlike the Burger King, who gave me this nasty gastric reflux and a feeling in my stomach similar to carrying a baby made of rocks. Ronald was the chicken to my nugget and the 2% milk to my apple slices.

It would only be fair to completely cover the details of our first formal rendezvous. And as a journalist, I won’t let my readers down.

For a personification of a fast food establishment that serves meals less healthy than consuming your own foot, he was quite classy. We went to this really posh restaurant, and, to say the least, I was jazzed. He ordered a glass of Chardonnay, I ordered a Capri-Sun, and then we got to chatting.

As I mentioned before, I’m a journalist. So I made sure to ask him a few serious questions, as I could see myself running a “Hardball” or “Fashion Police” type show in the future.

“So, are you like totally old?” I asked, puncturing the Capri Sun with my straw. When Ronnie paused, I made sure to clarify. “Because you have, like, a lot of clown makeup on. You’re like a cross between Peewee Herman and Lord Voldemort – which I’m totally into.”

Ronald shrugged. “Well, I was initially introduced to the public in 1963, which means I’ve been working and selling product to children for over fifty years. One might say I don’t really have an age, since I appear to be childlike by nature and—”

I totally wasn’t listening. I asked a few more questions, ranging from what type of hair dye he uses (Arctic Fox hair products) to if he knew that mustard yellow was the color of the season. The only thing that left me puzzled was the tip he left for our waiter.

It was at least a 15% tip, which was incredibly shocking. I mean if the McDonald’s Company can’t pay their minimum wage workers a few extra bucks, how could he have the extra cash to spend on a waiter that took more time to deliver food than the average drive thru worker?  

“Mr. McDonald,” I questioned, using my best reporter face, “this is, like, so not chill of you. You’re a multi-billion dollar company and your workers can, like, barely survive!”

Ronald ignored me, which only increased his enigmatic aura, but I knew that he wasn’t the type I’d like to see again.