McObsession

What does it mean to be familiar with something? I bank at Regions. I've been doing so through several incarnations, from way back when it was Magna. I'd say I'm pretty familiar with their services. I've been sculpting with Sculpey polymer clay for over a decade. I'd say I'm very familiar with the texture and quality of the clay...while I'm sculpting, and after I cure it. I've been with my partner for over a year and a half now. I'd say we're really familiar with each other. We feel we know one another inside and out. I'm pretty confident that my car of four years is reliable, that the seat will always be adjusted to my liking, and the steering column is comfortably in reach.

I've been employed where I work for over two years. I'm familiar with the drive in to work, where my desk is located, and who my coworkers are. I know my puppy, our baby, will be excited to see me when I come home, or if I'm away from any period of time. I'm familiar with the way certain foods taste, provided I've either had them at least once before or have grown up eating them. I'm familiar with the way Axe gel deodorant smells in its container versus how it smells smeared on my underpits. I've long been familiar with the way hugs from Mom feel secure, yet because my body mass is proportionately much larger than hers, I feel like I'm somehow protecting her.

As time goes on, we all become increasingly familiar with the way things are. Certain smells, sights, people, places, and things all have the ability to conjure up thoughts of familiarity. Whether we realize it or not. I've been borrowing my mother's sewing machine indefinitely, until she needs it for something. For many months, I had no designated purposeful space for it. Instead, it set on the floor of the kitchen, tucked in a corner. Before long, I had unwittingly become familiar with its placement in the room, although I thought it was placed out of mainstream sight. When I finally made space for the machine in a cabinet, its absence on the floor was markedly noticed. Its designated spot on the floor in the corner of the kitchen was forever changed and I'll always remember how the sewing machine felt there. Weird, but true.

But what does it take to grow familiar with something? Is it a matter of time? Is it a matter of duration of time? Certainly, I feel more familiar with my partner since we've been living together than I would if we kept separate residences. A coworker I've known for two years is more familiar than one who just started last week. Spaghetti tastes the same pretty much every time it's made at home, but somehow it has a different feel to it when it comes from a restaurant.
Is it subtleties in difference that make us truly realize how familiar we are with the distinctness of other things? I can literally taste the quality of a Starbucks Frappuccino I buy from a convenient store versus another brand cold coffee drink that may taste like the milk left over from a bowl of Coco Puffs. My sister loves Miracle Whip, but loathes mayonnaise. She swears she can tell the difference from potato and tuna salad to a Dagwood-style sandwich. I think she's insane, but I don't readily consume either product. I have nothing for comparison when it comes to eggshell-colored condiments.

Iced coffee, on the other hand, is something I believe I readily excel at. I suppose I'm some sort of cold coffee connoisseur. I love cold coffee. In the morning, in the evening, late at night. It's like chocolate milk (or better) with a kick. I'd get Starbucks every day if it were convenient, and less expensive. Much to my amazement, and the befuddlement of Starbucks, McDonald's introduced McCafe a number of months ago. The ubiquitous fast food chain showcased gourmet-tasting coffee beverages at a significantly cheaper price than their coffeehouse competition. To introduce customers to their new concept, McDonald's ingeniously marketed free McCafe coffees to lure in a new audience. I'm not so sure about everyone else, but the gimmick worked for me.

A day after I got a coupon in the mail to try out McCafe free, I was in the line at the drive-thru to see what new coffee taste I greatly anticipated. And wow! This iced coffee was exactly as McDonald's advertised: high in taste and low in price. The coffee was unfamiliar to me at the time, but in this instance, I wanted to become more familiar with the sweet, delicious, drink. It was also much more affordable than Starbucks, so I was willing to change. Another three free-coupon-drinks later, and I was hooked. Suddenly, I began to crave the wonderful coffee from McDonald's.

But the Large Iced Hazelnut coffee simply wasn't enough to get me going for my daily commute. One morning, I quickly skimmed the value menu with my eyes. There, at the bottom of the drive-thru menu, was an item I had long overlooked, the Sausage McMuffin. In an attempt to quench my satiable desire for a tasty coffee drink and diminish my tummy's early morning rumblings, I ordered both.

"May I take your order?" says a sweet, cheery voice through the intercom.

"Yes." I respond, "I'd like a Large Iced Hazelnut coffee and a Sausage McMuffin."

As I reply, I see my order pop up on a computerized screen. When I can agree everything on the screen is correct, I let the woman know. "Three-twenty-two," she repeats the total as it appears on the screen. "Please pull up to the first window." And I do, I drive up to that first window, just a window closer to my delicious coffee delight and that oh-so-tasty, but oh-so-greasy McMuffin breakfast sandwich. My first bite of that English muffin with a greasy sausage patty and processed cheese slice was heaven. A couple sips of my sweet hazelnut coffee makes each delectable morsel go down smoothly.

And I'm not sure if it really is that great tasting, or if it's mind over matter. For five long months, my partner and I dieted rigorously. No fast food. No sweets. No taste. At some point near the end of our near-fasting period, McDonald's McCafe campaign was launched. I don't think there was a clear cut date for us to quit our health-food craze, but one free coupon changed all that. Suddenly, I wanted my damn Starbucks, but without that high price. McDonald's then seemed like a viable alternative.

The transition from 1200 calories a day back to, "eh, we're in love, it's okay to be fat" was nearly instantaneous. I wanted my Large Iced Hazelnut Coffee and Sausage McMuffin and nothing was going to stop me. And not only do I want it all workday mornings, I wanted it on my days off too. My regular daily routine consists of rolling out of bed, showering, dressing, and going to McDonald's. On weekends, I get up whenever I get up, then complain about wanting McDonald's coffee until it's time to head out for errands or something. On weekends, I typically don't order a McMuffin; I'm not up early enough in the morning on my days off to enjoy the breakfast menu.

Soon, I became obsessed, addicted for that premium coffee drink at the affordable price of the Golden Arches. I not only felt a want for it, but a need for it. At times, drinking as many as two large iced hazelnut coffees a day. It became ritualistic. Each morning, as I stood in the hot shower to prep myself for work, I would wonder how much time it would take me in the drive-thru today. Or, would I feel rushed enough to run to the counter inside if the line of cars twisting around the building proved too long. I didn't care if I was ten minutes late to work...I needed my McCafe beverage!

Of course, I realized at some point, I had a problem. A serious addiction that could only be cured by a possible intervention. I knew I needed help. I knew my motivation of sugar, caffeine, and fat was not a viable option. And yet, I felt so compelled to continue to McDonald's on my daily commute every morning. It became second nature for me to make a left at the intersection nearest my home...where, coincidentally, the nearest McDonald's sets. Oh, so easy to drive off the beaten path for a few moments attaining my daily heaven!

I knew I had a problem. All the weight I lost over the summer had reappeared in just a few months. The mouth-watering unnecessary breakfast meal had me hooked, and I feared there was no stopping it. Try as I might, I wanted to repress the very idea I was addicted to anything on McDonald's forsaken menu. So, I went about my business and tried not to acknowledge my deep-seated craving for that large iced hazelnut coffee. Until a familiarity happened.

Sure, I was familiar with the sweet hazelnut flavor...that's how I became a McCafe junkie. I craved it every morning on my daily commute. However, I wasn't expecting my daily fix to allow me to develop a bond, a weird friendship of sorts with the girl who was on the other end of the drive-thru speaker. She had somehow become familiar with my frequency, my tone, my voice, and my psyche. After awhile, all I'd have to order was the coffee, and as I drew in my breath to say "and a sausage McMuffin," the girl would answer along with me. Had I become so compelled to order this "meal" every morning that my habit had become predictable to this total stranger?

I pulled to the first window and the young woman smiled brightly at me. She would then entertain me with mediocre chit-chat, like, "How are you today?" or "Good morning, gettin' started, eh?" At first, I thought it was cute, even pleasant, but as time grew on...I became more embarrassed she had my routine down. There was probably an hour window where she expected me on a daily basis. And I suppose the sound of my voice was unmistakable. From that day forward, she would finish my order for me, raising the sound of her voice ever-so-slightly upon saying the word "McMuffin" as if to pose a question. It either said, "Are you sure you want this again today?" or "Are you the same person who orders this ever morning?"

After a few weeks, I had grown of her ability to peg me, so to switch everything up, I'd periodically park my car and order from the counter in the lobby. This seemed to help things a bit, for me anyway. I didn't feel as though the girl was persecuting me for knowing my daily ritual. Perhaps I was also ashamed of myself for having lost so much weight, only to gain it back by this new morning McDiet. In any event, I didn't want the fast food employee to think I was somehow obsessed by her store's product. But I was.

One morning, I wanted to see just how well she knew the sound of my voice, or had my timing pinpointed to the nearest fifteen minutes or so. When I drove up to the window, a woman asked, "How may I help you?" I was fairly certain it was the same woman who had my routine pegged, but I wasn't quite sure. One woman's "how may I help you," varies only slightly from another woman's, or another restaurant, for that matter. Instead of responding my typical plea of, "I'd like an iced hazelnut..." I said, "why don't you tell me what I want?" The girl giggled and repeated my order just like she had days, weeks, and months before. Now I was terrified. She knew my voice.

I came home from work that day and told my partner about the McDonald's employee's ability to know who I was and what I was ordering, sight unseen. He didn't believe me, or, he was in disbelief. Just as I was. How had I become so incredibly obsessed with McDonald's coffee and breakfast sandwich that I was no longer capable of being dissolved in the mass of other McDonald's revelers? No, I was more distinct than Ronald McDonald himself. This woman could identify me in an interview session where my face was obscured by shadows or some other type of distortion method. I was the Large Iced Hazelnut and Sausage McMuffin guy. There was no denying it.

I reconsidered my values and contemplated if I should continue to frequent the fast food giant on my daily commute. I found my body growing more and more undesirable under the duress of over processed starches, sugars, and fats. I discussed with my partner that although McDonald's coffee was considerably less expensive than Starbucks, at $3.22 a day, it was costing nearly one hundred bucks a month for my new habit. I felt shamed into kicking the habit completely. Until Monday morning rolled around and I found myself sneaking into the lobby and up to the counter for someone other than the girl at the window to take my order.