I missed the cutoff for McDonald's breakfast, but the cashier was golden
They say breakfast is the most important meal of the day, but if you ask Google what time McDonald’s stops serving breakfast, you’re unlikely to get a straight answer. I know this because one morning, at precisely 10:25 am, I asked Google this question.
Google’s top result scraped the text from a USA Today article titled, “What time does McDonald’s stop breakfast?” Either things were slow at USA Today, or their web analytics honcho was calling the editorial shots. Regardless, here’s the half-assed answer USA Google Today gave me.
“What do you mean, it’s either 10:30 am or 11:00 am?” Christina asked. “What kind of an answer is that?”
Normally, I do my best to answer my wife’s question, but with breakfast on the line and somewhere between seven and thirty-seven minutes remaining to acquire said breakfast, I didn’t think I had time to fuck around and find out more information. So I slipped on my flip-flops, grabbed my Bad Motherfucker wallet, and jumped in the car.
Our closest McDonald’s is ten minutes away, so I drove like a bat out of hell. I made it to the Golden Arches in seven minutes flat, thanks to the fortune of the fickle LA Traffic Gods and the exhilarating soundtrack of Gimme Some Lovin’ by The Spencer Davis Group.
“Welcome to McDonald’s, may I take you order?”
“Hey, are you guys still serving breakfast?”
“Sorry, we stop serving breakfast at 10:30 am,” the cashier said. “You just missed it.”
I was about to concede defeat, but before I could say a word, the intercom crackled with hope.
“Actually, I just asked the kitchen, and we do have a few breakfast items left.”
“Any chance one of those items is a sausage biscuit?”
“You’re in luck,” the cashier said. “We’ve got one sausage biscuit left.”
Ten million breakfast enthusiasts in all of Los Angeles County, and I was about to snag the last sausage biscuit of the day. Damn if they don’t know how to make you feel like a winner at Mickey D’s.
“Sold American,” I said.
“Do you want to make it a combo?”
Did I want to make it a combo? This was still America, wasn’t it?
“Look, I don’t want to press my luck, but do you have any hash browns left?”
“Good point,” the cashier said. “I asked about the combo out of habit, but let me check with the kitchen first.”
A moment, later the cashier came back on the intercom.
“Well, we’re out of hash browns.”
My heart sank, but my heart doctor’s heart swelled with joy.
“But I told the kitchen you wanted the last sausage biscuit,” the cashier continued, “and honestly, I just don’t think it’s right to serve breakfast without hash browns. So, we’re gonna make one for you, if you want it.”
“Sold American!”
“Right on, sir. Will there be anything else?”
I told the cashier no, he gave me the total, and told me to drive around to the first window.
“Thanks for hooking me up,” I said. “I wasn’t sure what time you guys stop serving breakfast, and to be honest, Google was no help.”
The cashier didn’t respond to my Google comment. He looked like he was seventeen or eighteen. For all I knew, his generation had abandoned Google in favor of TikTok, where answers to mundane questions are accompanied by dope dancing, banger beats, and zero alliteration.
“Yeah, the cutoff time is kind of a confusing mess,” the cashier said. “Technically, we’re supposed to stop at 10:30 am on weekdays and 11:00 am on weekends.”
“Technically?”
“Yeah, that’s the messy part. Some managers are harsh. The second the clock hits the cutoff time, they stop serving breakfast, no exceptions. Their attitude is, too bad you missed it, even if you only missed it by thirty seconds.”
“Dicks.”
The cashier nodded.
“But some managers are cool,” he said. “They’ll keep selling breakfast as long as supplies last. The harsh managers say you’re not supposed to do that because rules. Also, it’s supposedly a hassle to keep breakfast going when we’re serving burgers and stuff, I guess. That’s the logic anyway. But honestly, it’s not like one sausage biscuit and a hash brown is gonna mess up the whole operation.”
“Sounds like there’s a cool manager working today,” I said.
“Oh yeah, she’s fire. Not gonna lie, everyone wants to work their shifts with her. Bad managers are bad for business, but good managers are worth their weight in gold, you know.”
I studied the teenage cashier. His views on management theory were way more sophisticated than the views I held when I was his age. Not only that, this young man had saved the most important meal of the day by demonstrating strong communication skills, a keen understanding of food production operations, and the ability to influence without authority.
Clearly, I was looking at a straight shooter with upper management written all over him, and at the risk of turning an Office Space reference into an ad, I’m Lovin’ It.
Stick around and chat about the story!
I love hearing from readers like you because it makes writing Situation Normal so much fun! If you enjoyed this story, please let me know by leaving a comment below. Or, if you’re the type of person who likes a prompt, consider the following questions:
Is breakfast really the most important meal of the day, or is it actually brunch? Explain.
There are a lot of fast food options in this world, but which one makes the best breakfast? Be prepared to defend your answer with hyperbole, opinion, and ad hominem attacks.
Aside from fast food chains, what’s your preferred dish for starting the day? I’m an avocado toast man myself, but I also break for pancakes, Dim Sum, and bagels.
When I’m in a hurry, I always play Gimme Some Lovin’ by The Spencer Davis Group. What song helps you haul ass?
Essay question: Can you please explain the sad state of affairs that led USA Today to run an entire news story that tried, without much success, to nail down what time McDonald’s stops serving breakfast? Charts welcome, but not required.
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I’ll tell you when I’ll know the world has finally seen the light: when they just name my regular McDonald’s order “special breakfast,” because I’ve been going to McDonald’s about once every two weeks for 20+ years and ordering “special breakfast”--that’s a Sausage McMuffin with Egg and two Hash Browns--only to have to spell out for them what “special breakfast” is. I’m thinking if I just keep trying, eventually they’ll put it on the menu. My family knows! In fact, there’s a special eye roll that my wife reserves just for days when I say, I think it’s a good day for special breakfast. That’s how special it is!
for hauling ass, there is only one: MERCURY BLUES BY DAVID LINDLEY. bring it! you fuckers are false prophets!