Rich people are coming downtown to my KFC because the economy sucks. Today I enter my local KFC to snag my daily lunch. I join the line fantasizing as I always do over the Colonel's crispy strips. I order them with honey mustard and ranch because I like dipping sauces like a crack head likes the rock. Usually my KFC run is a simple in and out trip but today is not so.
All is going smoothly, happy customers file behind me and glance toward the billboard making their selections. Today has been good, and it only getting better as I am one spot from the front. I can't resist thinking heck yeah I beat them, I beat the ten to eleven people who make their way to this particular KFC for the 11:50am brunch. I begin to cautiously eye the people in the line letting them know that I have ownage over them and beat them to the brunch line. I don't do this to long because I hate pride and the homeless man with the boot on his hand in the back keeps trying to smile at me.
Refocusing on my chicken strips, I hear the guy in front of me, "This $2.97 combo is supposed to come with a breast and a drum stick." The cashier knows as well as I do that this guy is not from around these parts and is waaayyy out of his tax bracket. I am quietly laughing to myself because I know something this important man does not. It is a meal, not a combo. The cashier recovers from his surprise and reluctantly responds, "Sir, the $2.97 meal has always come with a breast and a wing, not a breast and a drumstick."
At this point the invest man banker, with the gray pinstripe suit he bought from the douche bag room at Brooks Brothers, pulls out his phone. "No, no I can't talk right now I'm in an important meeting... we will meet with this young "Microsoft" after I get done with this young "Goolge." He snaps his phone shut, I think it was an old Motorola Startac. He leans on the counter and stares the cashier right in the eyes. "Don't you lie to me, every KFC sells the $2.97 combo with a breast and drumstick... I want to speak to your manager."
The cashier heads back towards the kitchen. At this point I can sense this very important man, from a big office, is about to turn around to get my take on the situation. He turns around and I pop my head to the ground. Words will not do justice to describe the worth of this man. The last thing I want is him making eye contact, the important types can read your soul. I can sense him planning on how to best the coming opponent. I know he is strategizing because on T.V. business people are good at this.
The cashier arrives back at the register with manager in tow. He doesn't waste one moment, "The $2.97 meal comes with...a breast... and a wing." Oh my God, no he just did not! This guy is far more relevant than anything in this restaurant. I know he is about to pull out the phrase I only hear in movies, "Do you know who I am chicken man?" I can't help but thinking who is this "manager" that he would be so bold to go toe to toe with the class system. It is there for a reason and he would challenge it? I am idolizing the manager on the inside and amazed that the invest man banker hasn't taken his soul. The invest man banker responds, "Well I came here for a $2.97 breast and a drumstick combo and I intend to have a $2.97 breast and drumstick combo."
I am still standing in the line glancing from the floor to my watch. I am running out of time for my 8 minute lunch break. Should I say something to him, yes I will I attempt to speak to him. I take a step closer to let him to let him have a piece of my mind. I whisper, "I am in a hurry." The invest man banker turns to me and screams in my face "WHAT?!" I am so angry at this point that I muster up all the fire in me and mouth the word "... nothing" Whew that was close.
At this point the manager, fed up, leans in and in a crude politeness says slowly, "You'll take the dam $2.97 breast and wing meal and like it." At the managers threat the invest man banker backs up three steps. We are all clapping for the courageous keeper of the chicken. It takes me a moment to sober up from the excitement and I slowly realize we are not all clapping. Everyone is starring at me, I am the only one clapping. The important man burns me with the devil's eye as I try to transition from clapping my hands into clapping flies out of the air. He steps in my bubble and says, "You want to head outside fa!%ot!" I, in fact, decide I do not want to head outside. I dash out of line and into women's restroom. I slump down against the wall, crying, and think to myself I hate May 4th 2009, and I hate this economy.
No comments:
Post a Comment