Christmas Eve, 2013.
I was alone as usual.
I was hungry after getting off work. I had three options: pick up a shitty pizza, eat some cold cereal at home, or swing through the Golden Arches. You all know what I had to do.
It was a holiday after all, so I decided I’d treat myself. No Dollar Menu shit this time (sorry Buffalo Ranch McChicken).
I decide to go inside for some reason, place is empty. The young hispanic girl at the register is pretty cute, nice change of pace. Merry Christmas to me, I thought.
Behind her, the menu caught my eye. Double Quarter Pounder had just gone out the window because there sat the BBQ-drenched sandwich of a better time.
“Welcome to McDonald’s, what can I get for you sir?”….

I look around, there’s no other customers. The based black man is putting fries down. I am a king, this Christmas.
“Yes, hi, I’d like three McRib sandwiches, a large order of French Fries, a large eggnog shake, a bottled water, and four apple pies, please.”
“Anything else?”
“Yes, actually. Add on your favorite items, money is no object. Tonight is Christmas Eve, and a meal with you is my present.”
She laughs, such a bright smile, I can feel the snow melting off my duster.
“That’s romantic, but I’m just 16, and don’t have a break coming up anyway.”
Ah, another time then, my dear. I wave it off, ask her to make it to-go with the excuse that I don’t want to mess up the clean dining room, and wish her a Merry Christmas.
The black man hands me my items as they come up, freshly-made. I thank him in turn and wish him a happy holiday. I tell him to protect little Rosalita there with everything he’s got, and he laughs and promises to do so.

I leave $3 on the counter, as a gift.
I made my way through the blizzard then, my mind fixated on that holiday treat. ’96 Explorer. Control-Trac. Heater on full blast, but before the heat is up again, I have that tangy sauce all over my face. There are onions on my collar. Salt and grease stains my face as tears fall. Sadness, and joy.
This McRib is so fleeting, I think as I unwrap the second one. Like Christmas joy, or Rosalita’s smile, they will be gone again soon. We don’t know when they will be back if ever, but we keep hoping.
Eggnog imitation and pickles is a better combination than you’d think. I toss back the fries, filling my empty Christmas with the salty goodness, but I still am empty.
As I dunk my apple pies into the shake, the heat kicks on. The shake becomes nice and soupy.
Just asI flip the headlights on, and peer through the frosted window. The hispanic chick and black man are just hanging out, but I can see the joy of receiving a gift in their faces.

I could wipe my face before heading out, but to do so would be to wipe my memories of the McRib and thus my memories of the best Christmas ever.
As I toss my garbage out the window into the snowdrift, Feliz Navidad comes on the radio. This is a scene out of a holiday classic, I can feel it.
Prospero año y felizidad, huh? Rosalita loves this song I bet.
I shout out the open window at all who can hear “Merry Christmas to all, and to all a Goodnight!” as I speed away from the BP and feel my AWD engage.
Whatever happens, I’m better prepared for it now.
That, my friends, is what the McRib means to me.

Le End go’o