I imagine going into a McDonald’s, walking up to the counter to place my order, addressing the middle aged salvadorian woman who is shaped like a bag of potatoes “I’ll have the Travis Scott meal.” She would reply “what to drink” and I would look at her quizzically and say “I said Travis Scott meal… I gotta have my Sprite.” She will say “anyting else” to which I would reply confidently “yeah. Cactus Jack sent me,” as I crack a smug sidegrin, slyly pull out my wallet, and place my AmEx Gold in the chip reader before she even tells me the total.