Think about a time you went to eat at your favorite restaurant.  Write a story about the event. 
    Little puffy clouds dotted the blue sky as I walked through the door of my favorite restaurant.  “May I take your order?” the cashier asked. Even though the bright menu board above the cashier’s head listed dozens of items, there was only selection for me.  I didn't even have to think or use my eyes.  This was my favorite restaurant, and I was ordering my regular.  Other people might have to stand and ponder, but my response didn't waste any time.

    “Yes ma'am.  I want a cheeseburger Happy Meal please with a Coke!” I declared.

    “That will be $2.25,” she replied.

    In a second, the change jingled as my hand searched my right pocket. One dollar, three quarters, five dimes and one nickel clanked down on the counter.  Since I always ordered the same thing, I knew exactly how much it would take.  Everything about this restaurant was recorded in my memory.  I was a McDonald’s expert.

    Suddenly, the cashier handed me a tray.  My hands eagerly grabbed the tray.  As I turned around, my eyes searched for an empty booth.  A lady with a trash can was cleaning last booth over in the corner.    In a flash, I noticed that a boy was headed for the empty booth.  He was going to get there first.  All I could think about was that cheeseburger waiting for me. My hunger made me race around the cluster of filled tables.

    Unexpectantly, a man with a mop came around the corner at the same time.  My eyes were fixed on the empty table instead of my path.  The man's mop tripped me, and my feet flipped out from under me.  He apologized and asked if I was O.K.  My face blushed, but the only thing hurt was my pride.

    As I sat down at the booth and opened my Happy Meal box, I noticed that my cheeseburger had suffered more.  It was as flat as a pancake, and the toy was pressed in its middle.  The burger tasted just as good as always.  The toy was still fun.  And McDonald’s is still my favorite restaurant.   My accident with the mop proved that I need to always keep my eyes open . . . . even though I think I know where I am by heart.