I firmly believed it was common knowledge that McDonald’s was the paragon of dining excellence. My belief was not influenced by the delicious food as that was a commonalty that was shared with other fast food restaurants, but rather a deeper experience. My father shared his skepticism that McDonald’s should be classified as the paragon of dining excellence without independent facts to support my “subjective opinion.” Never one to back down from a challenge, I asked if he would afford me the opportunity to eat dinner at McDonald’s that evening, so I could provide overwhelming and irrefutable evidence to support my position. My father made a self-created catch-22 for himself: Say no to McDonald’s which would inauspiciously deny me an opportunity to validate my claim or say yes and be exposed to whatever activities I planned and another meal at McDonald’s. My father said we could go to McDonald’s for dinner, but caveated that he didn’t want any “lolly-gagging.” I assured him I was all business, but sought and received confirmation that we would be having a date (a date is defined as a sit down meal at a restaurant).
When it was finally time to go my father called me from my room. Containing my excitement in the car was challenging. My father tried to taper my expectations by stating, “You do know you have been to McDonald’s countless times. There is not a seismic event that is going to take place this evening.” I chose to ignore his pessimistic outlook as I was laser focused on the execution of my plan. When we arrived, I told my father I would take care of the ordering. My father conveyed his reservation with me ordering his meal, so I just took care of my own. I ordered a Happy Meal – chicken nuggets, fries, yogurt, chocolate milk, and a toy. When we sat down I began my sales pitch for McDonald’s but was immediately distracted when I opened my Happy Meal. The Happy Meal toy that they had provided was a toy I already had, and that was not acceptable. I expressed my dismay to father, who tried to mollify my anger by saying, “It is OK. They cycle the toys in a rotation, and the toy looks like it will be fun.” “Dad, I get it; this is not a perplexing topic; I just don’t like the current outcome,” I thought. Irritated at my lack of gratefulness, my father encouraged me, almost in a taunting tone, to engage the McDonald’s staff and negotiate an exchange. I excused myself and went back to the pickup counter with my father trialing behind me.
I politely requested to exchange my toy for one that I did not have yet. The McDonald’s employee was happy to comply with my request and even afforded me the opportunity to look at all the toys to make my selection. The challenge I faced was that I wanted all the toys in the collection; selecting a single toy wasn’t going to be enough. I thought, “You will never know if you do not ask.” “May I have one of each?”, I said in soft tone. The McDonald’s employee deliberated my request. Sensing uncertainty, I added, “I am trying to show my Dad McDonald’s is the best restaurant on earth. Would you please help me?” My added imploration successfully sealed the deal as the McDonald’s employee allowed me to have one of each toy.
After securing the treasure trove of new toys my father inquired, “Let’s hear your pitch. Tell me more about the deeper experience you referenced.” I shared that the deeper experience centered on the toys that McDonald’s offered in its Happy Meals. I expounded further, “The toys are unique, and if I collect them all, and hold on to them for a long time, they will be very valuable in the future,” I explained. My father interjected, “Let me stop you there. That financial theory was debunked years ago. There was once a Bennie-Baby craze, and McDonald’s offered its own version of branded Bennie-Babies, which many people collected with the long-term goal that they would increase in value over time. However, that never materialized.” I thought, “Past data doesn’t foretell a future event Dad.” I replied, “Even if there is no increase in value, I still keep awesome toys, so I am winning either way.” My father cast extreme doubt that I would have an interest in playing with these toys in the future; then had the audacity to express I would be better known as a hoarder than an investor/entrepreneur. I sarcastically thought, “Glad you are not a career coach Dad as your comments are soul crushing.”
My father tried to steer the conversation back on topic, stating “While I appreciate your ambition and desire to build long-term wealth, I believe that is an independent process that does not have a parallel crossover that would warrant classifying McDonald’s as the paragon of dining excellence.” “What does that even mean?”, I wondered. It was as if he had just spoken in a foreign language. I began to question if future McDonald’s trips were now in jeopardy, as it sounded like my father had chosen not to fully recognize McDonald’s superiority. For the avoidance of doubt I inquired, “Dad, does this mean we are no longer going to come to McDonald’s?” “We will still come to McDonald’s. I just wanted to give you a different perspective,” he replied. To which I thought, “Dad, I am five years old, your business vernacular added layers of unnecessary complexity. We are not in a boardroom meeting at work, ease up man.” As we prepared to leave I wanted to test my father’s commitment to continuing to dine at McDonald’s, I asked, “Same time next week?”. He replied, “We will have to wait and see.” My father’s response was encouraging, and I was confident that through repetition I would be able to change his mind on McDonald’s being the paragon of dining excellence or at a minimum, change his robotic genteel responses outside of work.