The city of Melbourne. A place of happiness, congregation, inebriation... and, on this brisk Wednesday evening, a place of MISCHIEF.
Joined by my partner in crime, Jessica, we had concluded that today's visit to the big city would have the noble goal of hitting random fast food places and partaking in their wares, for lack of better things to do. In retrospect, the plan really doesn't sound exciting at all. In foresight, I knew at the time that it wasn't.
Regardless, we had already hit a couple places before deciding to take our merry party toward McDonalds. Or as it shall be dubbed henceforth; Mac-------CAS! (Insert duo giggling)
We entered, having handily noted the positions of each homeless person in a two-block radius just in case we should need them for no particular reason. As soon as we hit the counter, we knew we needed food and lots of it. Why? Well, because we hadn't eaten all day, and our junk food binge had been short-lived so far. I think we had a cookie and some sweet thing from a kebab place that I've already forgotten the name of. I'll call it a kalbaflaff and leave it at that.
Our order was prompt; twenty chicken McNuggets, a quarter pounder and a Big Mac. ...Hmm, sounded more impressive at the time. And I lie, it was not prompt; I hesitated in my decision to go with the Big Mac. Foreshame, Tony.
Possessing the sustenance, I peered up at the menu above. I keenly noted that they were still hawking their cheesy Happy Meal wares, and today's selection would be of the Pokemon variety. Ho-hum, how tacky, how 1997, how childish, how droll... OH MY GOD THEY HAD CHARIZARD.
I will now admit, I get all giddy at the very mention of Charizard, simply because he's a massive angry dragon whose tail is on fire. He's everything I ever dreamed to be, and though in actuality he ranks like thirteenth or fourteenth on my list of Poke-preference (the upper echelons reserved for such legendary beasts of valour as Venusaur and Dragonite. Those are the money-mon), he was always meant to be the most utmost cool Pokemon. I mean, seriously, his trading card game card cost like $100. That's one expensive lizard.
I had previously expressed my Charizard-fancy to Jessica (probably as an off-handed remark; 'Yes I'd like a coffee, and some scrambled eggs, OH MY GOD CHARIZARD RAWR'), and she could no doubt see the intensity in my eyes.
She quickly asked how much the toy would cost on its own, and I was taken aback. Sixty years from now, though there shall be a special place in my heart for my graduation day, wedding day, and the inevitable day I win the Superbowl, they will all bow down to the day when Jessica would buy me a Charizard. That, ladies and gentlemen, is the true mark of saintliness. ...After all, it's not like I was gonna ask for the friggin' thing, I look like a twenty-six year old stoner, don't need to act like one too.
I merrily watched on with anticipation as the McEmployee sifted through her box of mystery for the Char Czar. She came back empty-handed, expressing that there were none available.
WHAAAAAAAAT?? The sign clearly stated, AVAILABLE NOW. Had NOW expired in the duration of the last couple seconds? Was the Charizard on display in the case next to me mocking me at that very moment?
I should have staged a McMutiny. I should have sent HER to St. Louis!!
She did however mention that for $2 I could have a substitute Blastoise. Jessica asked if I wanted that one, and, save for the fact that I felt like a seven-year-old who was just denied his favourite toy, I couldn't help but pity the poor Blastoise.
He's no fire-brandishing dragon, nosirree, he's a turtle with water cannons. He's like the G-rated Charizard. The Diet Coke of Charizards. What Charizard would be if he was a sissy. Whereas Charizard sits at a mighty 18 on my Poke-list, Blastoise probably occupies a conservative 35.
I was still gonna get the Blastoise, oh hell yeah, but I was gonna sulk all the same. Additionally, keep in mind that the previous couple paragraphs all happened within the span of a couple seconds, which suggests that I really do ramble on.
Before we could sit, we began a trek towards the upstairs segment of McDonalds. This here's the important part, the employee standing next to the stairs shook his head in a definitive 'no', then brandished a red band barring access to the coveted area. Those brave enough who dared go past these would then be confronted with four chairs aligned perfectly straight behind them. This dude seriously didn't want us to get into his McClub.
Dejectedly, we sat at our table, watching as the pretentious employee (now dubbed Peyton because he sucks), went on his patrol, cleaning the floor, straightening all the chairs so that they were juuuuuuuust right, and generally being a pompous young Manning.
Jessica and I felt forlorn; not only were we denied a Charizard, but we could not get into this wonderful McClub, either. The thought occurs that it might have been a Charizard-only zone, which was of course no fault of ours.
We took it upon ourselves then, to eat as messily as possible, and every time he would straighten the chairs, we would wait until he was out of sight and make them crooked. No doubt we were playing hell with Peyton's head, and making a statement of the most powerful McNature... LET US UPSTAIRS YOU MOOK.
We knew it then and we know it now, it was pretty sad of us, and no doubt the security cameras would reveal us as the guilty party of this heinous chair-shifting. Those who witness this evidence would no doubt ask, 'Why?' I would plead insanity, I don't know Jess' excuse.
In our antics however, I believe we amused at least three people (ourselves included), perhaps lifting the dark spirits the restaurant was feeling, because of course everyone around us was also feeling the funk of Charizard-absence.
Afterwards, we arrived at Flinders Street and raced Blastoise. Yes, we raced a single toy. Leave us alone. He certainly feels expensive, I wonder if perhaps we underpaid by some $43. Not only does Blastoise run about like a mad hoon, but we amused a crazy old man who declared that we were doing 'good work', before wandering off, continuing the conversation with us long after we had left earshot. Jessica suggested we march Blastoise onto the road, and I stood aghast at this wicked McKamikaze statement. That was a $2 investment, it wasn't his fault he wasn't Charizard; he was probably miserable as it was.
Regardless, that was the long and short (mostly long, I felt) of our visit to McDonalds; I wouldn't be surprised if we're banned for life; perhaps next time we'll bring our Charizard admission and gain access to the elusive McClub.
Until next time, be sure to give the nearest Blastoise a hug, and if you spot a Charizard, tell him Tony's waiting.
