Jonny McCambridge column: Am I the Big Cheesy? Whether I want to be or not – it seems that I am

However, my son’s favourite dinner, from his very early years, has always been chicken nuggets and fries from the McDonald’s drive-through. When we go abroad one of the key points in our planning must always be to ensure there is a restaurant featuring the golden arches nearby.

So, usually on a Friday when I finish work and before my wife gets home from the office, I will load my boy into the motor and head for the drive-through. Experience has taught me that the earlier I get there, the shorter the wait is likely to be.

I know the routine intimately – speak into the machine with the large screen to order the food, pay at the first window, collect the food at the next booth and then drive home. Through regular practice I am now so proficient that the whole operation can usually be accomplished in less than half an hour.

This Friday I am a little later than usual, so the queue of cars is longer, but the optimism that the coming weekend brings easily drowns out any frustration at the wait. I chat happily with my son as we near the restaurant. Then, mechanically, I order the food, and our car begins to inch around the side of the building.

The first hint of problems to come arrives when I try to pay. The staff member attempts to charge us for the wrong order. I inform her, she checks, and the correct bill is produced. We move on slowly towards the next window.

There, untypically, we wait a few minutes before a young man slides open the window and asks us to park the car in a reserved space where our food will be brought to us. This is an unusual, but not unknown request, designed to enable the traffic flow to continue while the order is being prepared.

I do as instructed and turn off the car engine. We wait there for several minutes and my son sounds his first complaints about the delay. Eventually, we see the young man walking towards us. I note that he is carrying two large bags of food. I lower the window.

"Are you the Big Cheesy?" he asks.

This disarms me because I don’t immediately associate the title with food. For a moment I think he may be commenting on my character or temperament. Perhaps he may be a reader of this column, has recognised me, and is making a judgement on its contents and my undoubted stature. I almost say “Well, I’ve been called worse”, before it occurs to me that he is asking about my order.

“Uh, no," I respond. “We just ordered a chicken nugget meal.”

He looks displeased but retreats back into the building carrying his bags of food. We wait a few more minutes. I notice that several cars which were behind me have now been given their food and left. My son’s complaints grow louder, and I feel my own mood beginning to sour. Then I see another young man walking towards us. Worryingly, I notice he is also carrying two large paper bags. I lower the window.

“Are you the Big Cheesy?”

I fight to maintain my composure as I patiently explain to him that I ordered a single chicken nuggets meal. He leaves and the wait goes on. I count more than 20 cars behind us which have now departed the drive through. My son’s vocal complaints are now matched by my own. Then, I see a woman approaching. My head rests against the steering wheel when I observe she is carrying two large bags. I lower the window.

“Are you the Big Cheesy?” she says, predictably.

“I am not, I have never been, nor will I ever be the Big Cheesy,” I say despairingly. “All I wanted was a chicken nuggets meal for my son.”

She looks confused by this. She produces a receipt which she then shows to me. It is too dark to read it properly, but it clearly contains a long list of items. I have a cunning and deft counter.

“That’s not my receipt.”

I tell the woman that we have been waiting a long time and she displays sympathy. Then she comes up with a plan.

“Will you take this food and I’ll get your chicken nuggets meal now?”

“But isn’t this someone else’s meal?”

“If you don’t take this it will go in the bin.”

I am still doubtful, but she thrusts the heavy bags through the open window. She then disappears into the building and returns a minute later with another bag. I take this without asking questions or checking. I just want to go home.

Soon, I am in my kitchen and clearing the table to accommodate the food. There are three, rather than one chicken nugget meals. In addition, there is a box containing 20 nuggets.

There are also two Big Cheesy burgers (although I note from the box the correct title is actually the Big & Cheesy), as well as a chicken burger, a chicken wrap and a Big Mac. There are eight sides of fries. There are also two Happy Meals, one containing a burger and the other chicken nuggets. Just when I think that I have reached the end, I discover four apple pies at the bottom of the bag.

I notice a text message on my mobile from my wife inquiring if I need her to buy dinner. I text back.

“I’ve got food in.”

My son comes into the room and observes the dizzying spread. He takes his chicken nugget meal.

“Aw no”, he complains. “They forgot the ketchup.”