Kendrie -- Day 347 OT
Blaine -- That is one nasty looking scabby wound thing on his arm, is all I have to say.
Early this afternoon, I drove my mom to the Atlanta airport so she could catch her much-anticipated flight back home to OKC. Although *I* loved having her here, and I know the *kids* loved having her here, I do think four weeks was a little long for her to be sleeping in a 9-yr old’s bedroom and sharing a bathroom with three young (and let’s face it, not always the neatest of) children. But we will miss her dearly and are already looking forward to seeing her again at Christmas. Let’s hear it for Grandma Betty and the one dollar bills, hip, hip, hooray!
On the way back home, I drove through Chick-Fil-A (yippee, Diet Dr. Pepper!) and bought a large container of chicken salad for lunch. I put the container in a cooler I had in my car and drove a few miles down the road to shop at a Garden Ridge Pottery for lighted fake plastic Christmas candle stakes to go in our front yard to match the lighted fake plastic Christmas candle stakes I bought last year but which didn’t all survive the summer in the garage.
I was probably in the store half an hour, but didn’t worry about the chicken salad because it was in a cooler with a bunch of those freezy-things, that you use to keep items cold and can re-freeze over and over. (On a side note, how fab are those freezy things?? I just love them.)
Anyway, I finished my shopping, returned to my car, got on the highway headed home, and opened the chicken salad to eat while I was driving. (Please, no guestbook comments about how dangerous it is to drive while performing other distracting chores like plucking your eyebrows or reading a map or text-messaging. I was hungry, people, and my growling stomach was a much bigger distraction than my container of chicken salad.)
One bite was all it took for me to know that Ewwwwww, something is not right here. I sniffed … it *smelled* OK ….so I took another small bite, cautiously …. Nope, definitely not right. I don’t know what was wrong, but it was definitely …. Not right. I spit the bite out, then got off at the next exit and flipped an interstate U-ie in order to go back to Chick-Fil-A. Not because I was indignant at the prospect of being served not-right chicken salad, but because I was hungry and couldn’t think where the next Chick-Fil-A might be.
I walked back in the restaurant, clutching my bag in hand, offending contents inside. When I got to the counter, I explained I had purchased the chicken salad less than an hour ago and that it tasted …. Just …. Not right. The kid behind the counter looked at me and asked, “What does it taste like?” “Well” I said, “it just tastes bad. Not good. Just icky.” I crinkled up my nose and made a face, so he would understand my true feelings. Then, I offered him a bite, which he declined. Really, can you blame him? He also told me that no, no-one else had complained about the chicken salad today, but that they would be happy to replace it for me.
I said, “Well, if you’ve got a different batch made up, that would be great, thanks.”
And he took my chicken salad container, walked off, and was gone for a very long time.
He returned with a bite-sized amount in a bowl, with a clean spoon, and offered me a taste. It tasted fine, so he left again to get me a full-size serving.
Again, he was gone for a very long time, before returning with my new container of chicken salad.
So, in your professional opinion, do you think he:
a) Took my old chicken salad, stirred it up, including the bite I had spit out, and served it right back to me, laughing all the while with his friends about “the stupid cow up front who is complaining but can’t even tell the difference”, or
b) Did indeed give me a brand-new container of chicken salad, but made sure he and all his co-workers spit in it first, or
c) Thought about how much he hates the stupid, whiny customers at his fast-food job and that even working retail at Wal-Mart during this Christmas season wouldn’t be as bad as serving up replacement chicken salad for dorks like me.
And on a side note, there was another Chick-Fil-A less than five miles down the road. Next time (although I hope there is never a next time) I will simply toss the not-quite-right chicken salad in the trash and buy new at a different restaurant. Because the only thing worse than taking a bite of bad chicken salad is trying to explain what is wrong with it to a teenager, using very, very, very, very, very, very grown-up words like “icky” and “funny” and “just not good”. Seriously. Thesaurus, anyone?