BY SARA PEARCE
The Cincinnati Enquirer
I warned them not to let me out of the house.
I warned them not to let me out of the office.
Did they listen?
No.
So there I was Sunday morning, slouched in my car, drumming my fingers on the dashboard as I waited in the drive-through line at the Kenwood McDonald's.
In front of me: dozens of idling cars. Behind me: cars bumper to bumper on Montgomery Road, blocking one of the right lanes. At the restaurant entrance: people spewing out the door and into the parking lot. We all sought the same thing: Teeny Beanies.
The "Your Beanie Connection" message on the restaurant's answering machine said it now had Happy the hippo. Didn't have him; had to get him.
Already bagged three
So, the instant my husband and daughter were off to church, I was out the door and into the car. Kenwood, after all, was just 8 miles away.
My only mistake? Not bringing something to read. I sat in line for 38 minutes.
This wasn't the longest wait I had endured. The day before, after dropping my daughter off at a friend's house in Anderson Township, I hit both Beechmont Avenue McDonald's. (Unknown to my husband, my offer to drive her was just an excuse to hunt down Beanies.)
At that point, just 24 hours into the promotion, I already had the first three of the 12 offered -- and I hadn't even started my search until Friday evening.
Doby the Doberman, Bongo the monkey and Twigs the giraffe were in a basket with my daughter's Beanie Babies. Her Doby, Bongo and Twigs, that is. Mine were tucked away with my stash of 1997 Teenie Beanies. (In pristine condition in their original plastic bags; I've learned something as a features editor.)
Of course, I swore then not to do it again. That I couldn't bear so much as a whiff of a Happy Meal. That last year was an anomaly. That I had temporarily lost my mind.
After all, there were no grand plans for my Teeny Beanies. I hadn't bought them to sell or trade. No. It was the hunt I relished; the challenge to get all of them before anyone else in the office. I did. Leaving many a Happy Meal on co-workers' desks along the way (no point in wasting all those nuggets, fries and burgers).
When I bagged every Teenie, I vowed "never again" -- and said it more than once. Loudly.
Feelings of guilt forced me to try to justify this spring's spree. I told myself that I wasn't as obsessed as the parents, grandparents, collectors and children swarming around me.
After all, they had cell phones and were calling other McDonald's as they waited. Not me. I don't own a cell phone.
They were buying the maximum number of five. Not me. I bought three of each -- one for my daughter, one for me and one for insurance (to trade if I, gasp, missed one).
They were arriving in teams. Not me. I went alone.
But I knew I was kidding myself. Renting a cell phone had crossed my mind. Ditto buying extra Beanies. As for going it alone, that was only because of 1) embarrassment; 2) fear that someone would stop me.
You see, Doby, Happy, Twigs, et al. don't matter to me. The lure is in the hunt.
OK, so this isn't stalking big game. But sometimes, there is pleasure in even the most trivial pursuit.
Sara Pearce is Enquirer features editor.
