Lunch Break

I’ve often thought about what I would do if I ever found myself in some ransom-demanding, Dog Day Afternoon-type scenario. OK, not “often,” but I like to be prepared for anything. I like to think about what I would do in other fretful situations, like if I were on stranded while mountain climbing, trapped in a elevator with Kenny G and his saxophone, or asked to design a logo using a cross in place of the letter “T.” I’ve also thought about being married to Salma Hayek, but that’s an entirely different scenario.

My point in bringing up Dog Day Afternoon is that John Cazale was a very fine character actor. No, wait, my point was the ransom thing. The ransom I would demand would be simple. I would ask for one Saturday’s receipts from any Chick-fil-A Restaurant in a populous suburban area. I figure that would cover anything I may ever need. A private beach in Costa Rica, an extended stay hotel suite in Monte Carlo, a luxury yacht (permanently docked—I get motion sick pretty easily). A private brewery.

Chick-fil-A is a fine fast food restaurant. I enjoy the #1 Combo as much as anyone, but I don’t understand the obsession. The place is constantly mobbed. I could understand if they were giving away jet packs or invisibility cloaks or even those Dyson Air Blade hand dryers (how cool are those?). The Beatles aren’t reuniting on the playground. Or even Air Supply for that matter. Its chicken sandwiches. Its not like they’re selling McRibs. Now THERE is a sandwich.

When I was growing up, you had to have access to a mall in order to be close to a Chick-fil-A. But even then, there weren’t crowds clogging up the food courts, Later in college and even after I graduated, there were no throngs at the counters of Chick-fil-A.

It all changed when they built free-standing restaurants.

I can only understand the attraction as being anti-mall. I don’t want to brave the terrifying packs of 11-19 year olds walking the mall, all treading the fine line between being noticed an not standing out and ready to shriek, cry, laugh, or say “Dude!” at any given second, Often in the same second. I can have that experience at home every day, and without walking by something called Wet Seal or being sprayed by Damp Artichoke-Ginger Bath Splash as you stroll by Bath and Body Works.

Nowadays you can drive the SUV/minivan/crossover vehicle right up to the Chick-fil-A door. Well, not the door, exactly. Many, many, many people drive to Chick-fil-A; the parking lot looks remarkably similar to the Lakeside Chevrolet dealership (You won’t get soaked with our deals!).

A better option may be to stay right inside the cavernous luxury of your SUV of choice, and have them hand the food to you. This is apparently so appealing, that, despite a line of cars that begins RIGHT OUTSIDE THEIR HOME, thousands of people every day nudge their way into the herd and roll car length by car length to the drive through. There is even an employee stationed outside taking orders, coordinating traffic signals, calling a wrecker service, and aiding those who ran out of gas waiting in line.

This still doesn’t explain the popularity. Maybe its the illusion that chicken is better for you than a burger or a taco? Deep fried chicken breast on a buttered roll­—smothered in mayonnaise if you like—and sided with more fried food. And sweet tea. It is exactly like eating apples and carrots! Apparently, thousands of suburbanites agree. Other places have drive thrus and nutritionally questionable food choices. I never see the line of cars around Wendy’s. Or Taco Bell. Or even Rapid Rabbit (this was a fast food restaurant in Waco Texas in the early 80s that served rabbit. No lie. It lasted about 8 hours before closing).

If you do find a parking space and survive the journey into the restaurant, it can appear less busy—don’t be fooled. It doesn’t seem as crowded because all of the children are crammed into the hermetically-sealed “Kids Play Area,” Here the children are free to climb and run through the enormous Habitrail hamster cage, sweating, shrieking, running into one another, stepping on fingers, and becoming violently excited until the food arrives, at which time they run to their tables, sweating shrieking, running into one another, stepping on fingers, and becoming violently excited and occasionally throwing up waffle fries,

Then just when you think the electric atmosphere couldn’t become more charged, the kids are visited by Chick-fil-A’s famous cow mascot! “Look kids! Go say hi to the friendly cow!” At which point the kids sweat, shriek, run into the cow, step on the cow’s udder, and become violently excited. “No no Timmy, we don’t bite the cow’s elbow! Tell the cow you’re sorry!” The cow mascot is of course the employee whose register didn’t balance properly the previous night. That is why the Chick-fil-A Corporation runs so well—all work in fear of the cow costume.

While in line the last time I dared visit, I noticed the menu has a chicken salad sandwich. Has anyone ever ordered this? Who braves a scene that looks like a Michael Bay movie only with more destruction to order a sandwich you can make at home, without the danger of hearing loss from a screeching toddler clutching a handful of cow costume fur?

Not me. I’m just going to stick with McRib. There’s never a line for those.