Schiller vs. McDonald’s (Cheese-Loving Edition)
Nicholae Schiller didn’t expect his night to involve standing under the harsh fluorescent lights of a McDonald’s. But here he was, at Michelle’s insistence. She had been craving a Filet-O-Fish meal—extra cheese, of course—with a side of hot fries and plenty of mayonnaise packets.
“Papa, don’t forget the mayonnaise!” she’d reminded him as he left. “And don’t skimp! Like, at least five packets!”
How his daughter could have such a love for fast food, he’d never understand. But Michelle had him wrapped around her little finger. He sighed and joined the line, waiting his turn with a patience he reserved only for her.
Finally, he reached the counter. A bored teenager greeted him without making eye contact.
“I need a Filet-O-Fish meal,” Schiller began, his deep voice commanding attention. “Extra cheese. Hot fries. And Coke to drink. And don’t forget the mayonnaise packets. At least five.”
The cashier blinked, nodding quickly. “Got it. That’ll be $10.43.”
Schiller handed over the cash, his sharp green eyes tracking every move behind the counter. He didn’t trust fast food joints, and tonight would be no exception.
A few minutes later, the bag was handed to him. He opened it immediately, his instincts kicking in. Sure enough, the sandwich had no extra cheese, the fries were lukewarm at best, and there wasn’t a single packet of mayonnaise in sight.
“Excuse me,” Schiller said, his tone ice-cold as he fixed the cashier with an unimpressed stare.
The cashier hesitated. “Uh… yes, sir?”
“This sandwich does not have extra cheese. The fries are cold. And there is no mayonnaise. Did I stutter when I gave you my order?”
The boy’s face turned bright red. “Oh, um, I’ll get that fixed for you.” He grabbed the bag and rushed off toward the kitchen.
Schiller folded his arms, tapping his fingers against his bicep as he waited. More minutes ticked by, and his patience was wearing thin. Finally, the cashier returned with a new bag.
Schiller opened it and inspected the sandwich: extra cheese, check. He tested the fries: hot and crispy, good. But when he rummaged through the bag for the mayonnaise packets, there were only two.
His jaw tightened. “Do you think I’m here to negotiate mayonnaise packets?”
The cashier froze, wide-eyed. “I—uh—let me grab more!” He scurried away to retrieve additional packets, returning with a handful.
“Better,” Schiller muttered, taking the bag and walking out without another word.
When Schiller got home, Michelle was waiting on the couch in her pajamas, her hair in a messy bun. Her eyes lit up when she saw the bag in his hand.
“Did you get the extra cheese? And the mayo?” she asked, eagerly reaching for it.
“Yes,” Schiller said, handing it over. “After interrogating half the staff.”
Michelle giggled as she opened the bag, pulling out the sandwich and inspecting it like a treasure. “Papa, you’re the best!” She grinned, holding up the mayonnaise packets. “And you got me seven? Overachiever.”
Schiller sat down beside her, his expression softening. “I wouldn’t call it overachieving. I’d call it saving their jobs. Do you know how hard it is to get competent service these days?”
Michelle took a bite of her sandwich, sighing happily. “Well, you’re my hero. All this for a Filet-O-Fish.”
Schiller chuckled, shaking his head. “If anyone else had made me do this, I’d have left them at the mercy of their own hunger.”
Michelle leaned over, planting a kiss on his cheek. “Love you, Papa.”
He smiled, a rare and genuine one. “Love you too, micuța mea. Just don’t expect me to do this again anytime soon.”
Michelle grinned, dipping a fry into mayonnaise. “We’ll see about that.”
