I stepped into a chicken joint a few weeks back, expecting a hearty meal of… what else, chicken.
But much to my surprise, the first words I heard upon entering the establishment were not “Welcome,” or anything of that nature. Rather, “We’re out of chicken,” the cashier told my dining companion and me.”
“You’re out of chicken,” I asked pondering how that — of all things — could be the case. After all, chicken is the major commodity is a place like that It’s so big chicken is in the restaurant’s name — which shall remain nameless.
The odd part about the experience: They weren’t really “out of chicken,” as had been proudly announced. Rather, they were out of the kind of chicken I was interested in ordering. Never one to be disappointed, I settled, hoping to make the best out of this train wreck of a lunch outing.
Fast forward a few weeks. I had almost forgotten about the chicken episode until I walked into a sandwich shop one Sunday evening. I was interested in trying a new turkey bacon wrap. Walking up to the counter, I declared my order, ready to try this delectable delight.
Pulling a tortilla wrap from the bag, the sandwich artist began his craft. The cheese piled onto the wrap, then the turkey slice after slice was placed onto the wrap. The artist paused, looking around. I knew something was wrong. Then, my whole dinner plan came crashing down.
“We’re out of bacon,” he declared. “You’re out of bacon,” I said, unable to comprehend this. “l can put more turkey on it, or some other meat,” the artist said, obviously responding to my dissatisfied look.
What would that do? Had I wanted other meat, I would have asked for a turkey bacon wrap, with no bacon but with extra ham.
Contemplating my options, I thought this mean still salvageable. So after minutes of deep thought, I said, “no,” determined to make this ‘ wrap work. Then came the ultimate letdown. Pondering what other elements I would like on my bacon-less wrap, I asked for light ranch dressing. Yes, suddenly this dining experience was looking positive again.
“I can’t put that on,” the artist said. Stunned, I was speechless. This was the final straw.
First no bacon and now my sandwich artist couldn’t, put light ranch dressing on the wrap for me. What then do I decide goes on my wrap? It would have been easier to head to the local food store and purchase the materials to make my own wrap, including a dab of light ranch dressing. And worst of all, it would have tasted better. I’ve never come so close to returning food, but this wrap almost garnered such honors.
Come Monday, with two strikes already against me, I headed out once again. Confident the menu of this fast food restaurant accurately reflected what was available for my dining pleasure, I stepped up, ready to place my order.
“I’d like a baked potato I began to utter. The woman taking my order spoke into the microphone, relaying my order onto the kitchen. “Baked potato,” she said, the words resonating throughout the restaurant.
Then, like a stint of deja vu, my hopes and dreams were dashed, yet again. “We’re out of potatoes,” a cook yelled from the back.
There it was. Strike three.
Stunned, like a deer in the headlights, I quickly reviewed the menu, afraid as to what else might be missing. With the line waiting behind me growing restless, I finally reached a verdict.
Weeks ago, I was unable to satiate my appetizer chicken. Now, here at a fast-food restaurant not known for its chicken, I finally had my chance — they weren’t out of chicken.
How ironic.
