The Parable of the McDonalds

Disclaimer--I use the name McDonalds, but this is no way intended to represent any specific McDonalds. Outside of that, you may infer the meaning of the parable.

Once there was a restaurant chain called McDonalds. I enjoyed this chain very much, and liked their food fairly well, especially the filet-o-fish and the french fries. When traveling, I could always count on McDonalds to have the usual—filet-o-fish, Big Mac, Ronald, Grimace, and the gang. I knew exactly what I would get. Sure, there’d be times when the local chain was the test market for the company. For the longest time I could not get a breakfast burrito outside a certain radius of home; however, I knew that the egg mcmuffin was an adequate fall back.
Then something odd began to happen. I was on a plane, speaking with a fellow passenger about McDonalds. “Oh, I believe in food, but I never go to McDonalds,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Too many hypocrites there.”
“I don’t understand,” I said.
“Easy,” he replied, “Too many people are not sincere when they eat a Big Mac. They don’t want two-all-beef-patties-special-sauce-lettuce-cheese-pickles-onions-on-a-sesame-seed-bun. They want something else. Foolishness.”
On the ground at the airport, I began looking for a place to eat. The sign said, “McDonalds, concourse C,” so I headed over to concourse C. At the food court, I looked for the tell-tale yellow double arches indicating the McDonalds. Vainly I looked. Finally I gave up and settled on a non-descript wrap place. Taking my tofu and lettuce in tomato basil wrap to a table, I see a man nearby munching what look suspiciously like McDonalds’ chicken nuggets. “Pardon me,” I interrupted his meal, “where did you get those?”
He pointed toward a counter off in the corner. “McDonalds. Over there. It’s where I work, and I’m on break now. Is that okay?”
“Sure that’s okay, but I looked all over for the golden arches, and I just couldn’t find the McDonalds.”
“Oh,” he said firmly, “We don’t put up our name or the Golden Arches. There are too many people offended by that and so we don’t say who we are.”
“I see,” I said, not really understanding the concept of that, so I quietly took a bite of my wrap, which was as nauseating as it sounded. “So you don’t want people to know you’re McDonalds, but you still want them to eat there.”
He nodded, clearly not interested in carrying on the conversation.
At the end of this same trip, heading back to the airport, I decided I was in the mood for a Big Mac, so I chose to stop at a local McDonalds, having learned my lesson about the one on Concourse C. I spotted the familiar red sign with the yellow arches and pulled in the parking lot. Walking into the restaurant, I didn’t bother looking at the menu board because I knew I wanted a Big Mac, medium fries and a Coke. I walked up to the counter and gave my order.
“I’m sorry,” the teen taking my order apologized, “we don’t serve Big Macs here.” I looked up at the menu board. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Where was the Big Mac, the filet-o-fish, the Happy Meal? The Big Mac was called a Whopper, the filet-o-fish was called a Premium Fish fillet, the chicken nuggets were listed as popcorn chicken, and there was something under sides listed as frings. I did see down at the bottom, in a rather small font, something listed as a quarter pounder with cheese.
“What’s going on here?” I asked the teen worker.
“What do you mean?”

“Isn’t this McDonalds?” I asked, pointing to the sign. “Why do you have food from all these other restaurants?”
“Don’t all McDonalds?” was all the employee could say.
The manager came up to the counter during this exchange. “Can I help you?”
“Yeah,” I said, “What’s with all the food from other restaurants? This is McDonalds.”
“Well,” the manager explained, “This is the Progressive McDonalds. We feel here that McDonalds food is always the same. The people are looking for more than the same old historic McDonalds food. We want to give the people what they want.”
“Um, then why are you calling yourself McDonalds, if you don’t do what the rest of what McDonalds do?”
“Oh, that’s complicated, but we feel that we can reach more people by offering a variety of foods. We don’t want to feel constrained by tradition.”
“You know what?” I said, finding the whole thing ridiculous, “I think I’ll find another McDonalds.”
“There is another McDonalds about two miles down,” the manager said. “I think they have a more traditional menu. You might want to try there.”
“Thank you,” I said, still befuddled.
I did find the traditional McDonalds that day, but I cannot say I have had consistency with McDonalds ever since. I have found many like the Concourse C franchise, and many more like the progressive McDonalds. I am glad my local McDonalds is still a traditional one, and I know of at least one place I can guarantee to find a Big Mac as it should be.