Years ago, when I was 10, I was ready to go out fishing with my grandparents and my brother, Jonathan. Usually before heading out for a day on the lake, we prepare food in advance. However, this time around, Jonathan and I convinced my grandparents to take us out to Burger King.
When they said "yes," it was quite an exciting moment, for we rarely consumed greasy fast food. Arriving at the haven of processed delights, grandma remained in the car while grandpa accompanied me and my brother into the building. After scanning the vast menu, I ordered a burger. Jonathan went for the Kids' Meal–or at least he tried.
Armed with a credit card, my grandfather was ready to pay, but as the cashier reviewed our order, two words threw grandpa off: Kids' Meal. His face grew confused and somewhat repulsed. Grandpa could not understand what this “Kids' Meal” thing was, and so he turned to Jonathan and inquired. My brother then replied in his prepubescent voice, “Well, it has fries and chicken nuggets–”
“This is crap!” grandpa inexplicably proclaimed in his strong Russian accent, shocking the cashier. I guess he had something against chicken nuggets. Grandpa’s logic was that Jonathan was a growing boy who needed not a childish meal, but rather, actual protein to assist him in his years of maturation.
“I don’t want this. Just two cheese burgers, no meal or whatever it is,” he asserted. Without a moment’s hesitation, the cashier snatched grandpa’s credit card. While the transaction occurred, Jonathan kept tugging at grandpa’s jacket, telling grandpa that he didn’t even like burgers.
Eventually, we received grandpa’s modified order of two burgers, cruised down the road, and arrived at the lake in around twenty minutes. Lunchtime and the four of us prepared to eat. Grandpa handed me the Burger King bag that sported various patches of grease stains, while he and grandma pulled out some vegetables, rye bread, and kielbasa.
I unveiled both of the burgers from the bag and handed one to Jonathan, who wore an expression of sadness and curiosity. Carefully unwrapping the burger, Jonathan took his signature two-millimeter bite when trying new food and immediately rejected the hamburger.
He then told grandpa that he didn’t like the taste, to which grandpa responded, “I thought you like burger!” In grandpa’s lexicon, this loosely translated to, “You need burger to grow so eat it and like it!”
Grandma did not like the fact that Jonathan was not eating. She asked him what the problem was. My brother told her the now famous “This is crap!” story that has been retold at every family reunion since the incident, and she became furious with grandpa.
For about ten minutes, my grandparents both yelled at each other in a crossfire of brutal Russian, while my brother silently ate his lunch of tomatoes and kielbasa slices. Meanwhile, I sat in the corner gleefully indulging in my two burgers.
After that episode, we never entered a Burger King again.
