My First Chick-Fil-A

Up until yesterday, I had never in my life had a Chick-Fil-A. Yes, I know. Shocking, right? No, I haven't been a part of some type of gay rights boycott... or girlcott for that matter. I just haven't ever gone to a Chick-Fil-A. I have had people tell me how good they are, and express shock that I have never had one. I have repeatedly made notes to myself that I need to stop by and have a sandwich, but it just hadn't happened until yesterday. I stopped at the Pilot in Russelville Arkansas and went to the shopping plaza across the street, and there it was. So I went in to see what I had been missing all of these years.

I was surprised first by how busy the place was. Apparently they were having a "Spirit Night" for some school band or something, and this explained the crowd and long lines. My second surprise was the menu. Basically, for that one other guy on the planet that hasn't made it in yet, they have 3 choices, and each choice is a play on the previous. Here are your options.

1. A Grilled Chicken Breast Sandwich.
2. If that isn't your thing, they will dip it in flour and deep fry it for you.
3. Still not happy? They will dip it in flour and hot spices and fry it for you.
4. Still not impressed? Go to Burger King.

Now this is a 2 level menu of 3 versions of 1 product. Thus, each of the aforementioned items is also available with lettuce, tomato, and cheese as the deluxe version.

As I stood in line I was harassed by some teenage girls who seemed to be unusually happy. They asked me if I was there for "Spirit Night" and I informed them that I didn't think so unless Spirit Night means "Chicken Sandwich" in which case I was. They asked if I would be kind enough to put my receipt in a jar after I ordered, as this would help them in some way that wasn't explained and I didn't care to ask. I considered telling them no. After all, this was my first Chick-Fil-A and I needed proof that I had actually had the sandwich, and my friends are very skeptical. I decided against it, as this was more information than I cared to divulge to a complete stranger with acne on Spirit Night (of all times) so I said "Sure thing." Okay, that might not be an exact quote. Maybe I just said "Okay" or "No problem" but you catch my drift.

About 10 minutes later, I reach the register where I would pop my Chick-Fil-A cherry. After having waited this long, I was thinking "This had better be good" and I was a bit bothered by the thought that the long line would detract from what people had told me would be the best chicken sandwich I have ever had. I ordered the fried sandwich with none of the frills. The girl told me how much, I paid her, and she gave me my change. I said "Thank you" to which she replied "It's my pleasure."

Now that is a bit of an odd thing to hear coming from a high school aged girl. "You're welcome" or "No problem" or a simple "Yup" would be expected. As I thought about it I realized there was something else odd here. Not flaming odd, just one of those nagging thoughts that something is amiss and you can't quite put a finger on it. Then it dawned on me. I had just stood through a very long line. And not your ordinary long line either. A long line of annoying teenage girls. Yet this cashier was smiling. Smiling and saying "It is my pleasure." I decided her parents must be old fashioned and demand that she reply in such a way.

It wasn't long before I heard my name called out by a male voice, so I went to get my order. He handed me the bag and I said "Thank you" and he said "It's my pleasure." Well there went that theory. She was white and he was Hispanic. They couldn't possibly be brother and sister. Perhaps I had slipped into a time warp and landed right smack in the middle of the 1950's or something. I walked out the door and no, the cars were modern. I walked across the street towards my truck and then it hit me. Not my truck, a realization. Let's look at the evidence here.

1. Smiling when one should not be happy.
2. Ritualistic chanting.
3. "Spirit Night"
4. Serving beverages.

Obviously, I had walked into a cult meeting. I thought about not drinking my tea, but I was thirsty. And who knows, they could be right. Perhaps there was a better place waiting for me. I got to my truck and ate the waffle fries. Not bad. Then the chicken sandwich. Awesome. It was everything it was cracked up to be. I didn't even care that I had just joined a cult. Dare I say it was my pleasure?

Now I understand that the owner of this joint said some things that gay people find offensive. I get that. But if you think you are punishing him by not eating his sandwiches, you are wrong my silly little gay friends. You are punishing yourselves. I challenge you to try this. Find yourself one of your straight friends and ask him about his marriage. See that glazed look in his eyes when he tells you about how great it is and how happy he is? Notice that tear he tries to pass off as a tear of joy as he wipes it from his tortured face? Now ask him if he wants a Chick-Fil-A sandwich. See how his whole face seems to brighten? Notice the glazed over look leaving his eyes? Observe the genuine joy this man is feeling. Do you now understand how insane you are acting? The sandwich is there. The guy who may not like you made it, but he is not denying you the pleasure. Eat, drink, and be merry. For tomorrow they legalize gay marriage, and you will wish for sweet, sweet death. Don't go to a gay marriage rally, my friends. Eat Mor Chikin! And no need to thank me for this sound advice. It was my pleasure.

Comments (1)

• 

  Steve Parry

  • 30 March 2013 at 08:31
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  Testing facebook.

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