I want to recount the story of when I won the Easter basket at McDonald’s.
Years ago, during my childhood, back when corporate America wasn’t so cut and dry and quite frankly stale, people used to do fun things to attract business or beef up morale. Either way, it was something for free with nothing expected in return really. I believe you would call that nice. Huh, yes, this is a memory of long forgotten lore.
So it was Easter season in Springfield and the local McDonald’s held a contest. They had about four to five giant Easter baskets hanging from the ceiling above the cash registers. They were those Easter baskets that are molded plastic, all one pastel color, filled with stuffing covered in pretty paper in order to actually see what’s inside. They had tall giant loops of handles in order to display more items because by Easter basket we don’t really mean that stuff goes in the actual basket part, we mean that stuff is displayed in the space between the basket and the basket’s handle. Did I mention the size of the loops? TALL. So displayed were all kinds of crap toys, more plastic crap, and like 3 small bags of actual crap candy. All covered in cellophane and tied above the handle with a giant pretty pastel colored bow. I said crap a lot in the previous sentences but to small children that translates into pure gold. I mean, they were actually displayed closer to heaven holding their rightful spot above us puny humans and just below the hands of God I mean, McDonald’s I mean, God, oh I get confused. They were revered. Let’s just leave it at that. And four to five area children were going to win these beautiful, lovely, pastel, 99% plastic Easter baskets for doing nothing really.
It wasn’t really a contest. There was no test of skill or talent. No real competition between equals. No, it was more a drawing. Like a lottery for kids that doesn’t involve the exchange of one’s hard earned wages. All you had to do was write your name and your phone number on a small slip of paper and put it in the box. Easy, breezy, beautiful, Easter basket. And here is where the contest comes back into play. That test of skill and talent, because you see for me, that is exactly what it was. I can’t quite remember what year this all took place and despite being such a vivid memory and remembering all the mundane details, I was young. Real young. Young enough to not be able to correctly and legibly write my name and phone number on a tiny slip of paper. Young enough to not be able to reach high enough to put the paper into the slit cut into the top of a very tall box. Heck, I don’t think I could reach the counter to use it as a writing surface, that is, if I was able to write which I’ve already established that I could not. I was young. Let’s just leave it at that.
Thank God for big sisters.
I love my big sister.
Each child was allowed to put their name in once but it didn’t actually matter who wrote it. After filling out a slip for her, she helped me out and filled one out with my name and our telephone number. “Thanks,” I said. And as we left, I turned and gave the Easter baskets a little wink and I swear, one of them actually winked back. (This last part isn’t true. I don’t recall saying thanks.)
What seemed like an eternity later but which was probably just a few days later, my sister and I are home playing in the front yard being watched by Mrs. Garden*. Mrs. Garden was hard to explain to the other kids at school. Living in a rural, farming community and having a “maid” isn’t cool. She was our “housekeeperslashbabysitter” who is "like a third grandmother” to us.
I won! I won I won I won I won I won! Oh my gosh oh my gosh oh my gosh. Mrs. Garden you have to take us to McDonald’s now please please pleeeeease. Please don’t make us wait til Momma and Daddy get home.
So driving us around and wasting her gas was not in Mrs. Garden’s job description. But when faced with the options of taking us to McDonald’s or listening to us begging her to take us to McDonald’s she opted for shutting us up and taking us to McDonald’s. So we drive all the way into town. I got to McDonald’s and received my prized Easter basket. I don’t know how I proved I was me. I didn’t have any id as a small child but who cares! I had my Easter basket. It was just as shiny and plastic and gorgeous as it had been in my dreams. And it was all mine. That is, until my big sister opened her big mouth. In her authoritative, confident, know-it-all voice she says to me, “You know, Catherine, you can't even write. You wouldn’t have won if I hadn’t written your name down and put it in the box for you so technically, the basket is half mine.”
Ugh. Why did God invent big sisters?
I hate my big sister.
I actually didn’t feel this way. It was more like, “You’re so right, Madonna*. Please, pick out the best half of the basket’s toys and candy before I get a chance to even crawl out from under all the cellophane wrapping.” The only candy and toy I actually recall is a mini fun size^ bag of Sugar Babies and this plastic sifter plate shaped thing for like gold panning, possibly sand sifting at a beach which was great since I live in the state famous for bordering the most states (8, tied with Missouri) and which is completely landlocked and has no beaches or gold of which I know. This was not the first time I had been exploited by my sister and it certainly wasn’t the last. And we’re actually really close. I probably would have shared the basket with her out of the goodness of my big, warm heart anyways, but there were years and continues to be years of manipulation on her part. What more can I say?
Just this. This and maybe one other time which I can’t currently recall was the only time I ever won anything in a drawing. I did hit the Powerball number a couple months ago which was worth about three bucks but never turned it in and I think those things expire at some point. So it totally sucks that I used up all my good luck at such a young age and for what? For my sister to usurp half of my winnings and for a lousy plastic panner’s plate thing that broke soon thereafter. It remains today one of my fondest memories though. “The day I won something.” They don’t come often but boy, when they do, they shine...like gold from a panner's plate.
*Names have been changed to protect identities.
^ Tangent: Ever notice how "fun size" means tiny? I don't think that's fun.
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