Chik-Fil-A

A customer this evening told me that they were going to Chik-fil-a after they left, but lamented that it is always so busy. They say they can only go over there after we’ve closed for the night because otherwise it is just packed full of people. It’s because it’s the only one in the area, she said, the next closest one is in Hillsboro. Pretending like I gave a flying shit about her Chik-fil-a plight, I pointed out there was one in Vancouver. She agreed, but that was further away, and that one was always full of teenagers. I agreed teenagers were the worst, but I wished her luck over at Chik-fil-a.

It is at that point, just as the woman had started to walk away, that a light bulb turned on in her head. I could almost see it as she sauntered away, then stopped, paused, and turned her head back toward me. She’d had a private mental epiphany, and it prompted her to say, “Now, Chik-fil-a as a corporation could use a swift kick in the butt, but their food is just so darn good.” I nodded my agreement, a vacant smile affixed to my face, and sent her on her way.

It’s like she started to leave then it suddenly occurred to her that I was a giant gay, and might take offense at the fact that she loves Chik-fil-a so much so she’d better say something to prove she wasn’t a complete idiot. I don’t think she succeeded in that, but I hadn’t been expecting much from her to begin with.