To get the ball rolling, here’s an example of the kind of funny, weird, couldn’t-make-it-up story I’m looking for. I came across it via a friend of a friend on Twitter, and it is worth reading through the thread to the end. The climax (or anti-climax) is great. For the time being, by the way, I’ve decided I’m going to publish these here, unless things really do take off!
It’s 1AM and I decided I wanted a milkshake. So there’s a McDonald’s near my house. I’m greeted at the drive thru by the following sentence:
— Josh Raby (@JoshRaby) April 11, 2016
This story also reminded me of a funny thing that happened to me involving McDonald’s, probably about six or seven years ago. I was coming back to London on the train and decided to book a cab back from the station (this was in the days before Uber, and the only other option was a black cab, which would have been super expensive). So I made a reservation with a pretty reputable cab company – not one I’d used before, but I had it on good authority that they were reliable and at least semi-reasonably priced. I didn’t give it another thought until I got to the station.
That was when things started to get complicated. It took me a while to find my cab – there were no alerts on make, model or registration back then, and all I had to go on was a rough description of geographical location – but I tracked it down in the end and we were on our way. I will concede that I lived more or less in the sticks at the time, but it seemed to take an inordinately long time to get where we were going, and by the time we arrived, it must have been well after midnight (my train would have got in at 10.30pm or so). No matter, I thought. We got there in the end, and I had a price quote in hand to make sure I wouldn’t be overcharged.
This was also in the days before credit cards were widely accepted in cabs, so I had to pay cash, and all I had on me were two twenty-pound notes, for a fare of probably £30. This is where the McDonald’s connection comes in. The cab driver, of course, didn’t have change, so the only thing he could think to do was drive to the McDonald’s round the corner, with me and my luggage in tow. He went in – not to the drive thru, but to the restaurant proper – leaving me in the car, starting to freak out about whether this was some elaborate ploy to kidnap me. To make matters worse, he took at least 15 minutes or so with his order and came back with what appeared to be a full meal – rather than, I don’t know, say, something quick and easy just to get the change.
He then finally drove me back; I paid him and got out of the car expecting him to follow, at least to open the boot, if not to help me with my luggage. But he didn’t. He started to drive off. With my stuff (about two weeks’ worth of my belongings as I recall). I had to chase him down the street a few yards, banging on the back of the car, to get him to stop. Luckily, he did, but he left me in the middle of the street, laden with all my bags, to trudge back to the house. When I got there, I checked the change he’d given me.
It was wrong.