It was 11 am, and having dropped my wife off for a physical therapy session and skipped breakfast, I decided to indulge my self in a guilty pleasure: a McDonald’s sausage biscuit. Say what you will about Mickey D’s: their sausage biscuits beat Jimmy Dean’s, and don’t tempt me to talk about the 7-11 barely-edible version.
So I waited in the Drive-Thru line at the nearest branch (the one that only occasionally get its orders right), and when I finally reached the speaker, made a quick and simple request: “A hash browns and sausage biscuit, please. That’s all.”
A woman said in an impenetrable accent, “Sorry, no biscuit. Just [????].” I had no clue what she was saying. It sounded like “eh.” “Pardon me? Could you repeat that?,” I asked. “No biscuit. Only [????].” Well, I had already decided to cancel the order, since the whole point was the item that wasn’t available, but as a matter of principle, I was damned if I was going to leave without knowing what the mystery word was.




