I don’t understand what is wrong with you McDonald’s.
I mean, I understand what’s wrong with your food, of course. But as I publicly tilt my nose up at it and declare myself above such plebeian grub, secretly it hits all my oh so wrong pleasure centres at midnight when I’ve had one too many to drink. I suspect I’m not alone. That’s not what I mean.
You’ve been desperate to regain your waning market share for what seems like decades now. You keep reinventing yourself like an unstable ex, hoping that we will notice you again. Do you remember McDonald’s pizza? The Arch Deluxe? Those awful deli sandwiches you had a few years ago?
What you patently failed to appreciate was that if I wanted pizza, I’d go to a pizza joint. If I wanted a deli sandwich, I’d go to a deli. If I wanted a good hamburger, I’d go somewhere else. I want your fat and grease and salty goodness until I’m on the can 4 hours later regretting the whole damn thing.
And what your current executives fail to appreciate is that your restaurant is the culinary equivalent of a drunken 2 a.m. booty call. It’s fun and sinful and probably regrettable in the morning… but I sure as hell don’t want anyone else to know about it. Which is why your Pay With Lovin’ campaign is destined to be a failure of internet top ten list proportions.
I don’t want to dance for my food like some sort of circus bear. Nor call people and tell them I love them under the pretense of saving five dollars. Nor do I want some underpaid high school cashier pretend she’s enjoying busting a move with me. And I especially don’t want to hug an awkward and unwilling stranger.
Get it? I don’t want to draw attention to myself, because I don’t want anyone to know I’m here. I’m sorry, McDonald’s. I know that sounds harsh, but I have to tell you the truth.
My advice? Embrace your trashiness, drop the crappy facade that you’re a healthy place to eat and drop the price of your combos while you’re at it. Are we still friends? Good.
See you at midnight.