I like Chik-fil-A for multiple reasons:
1) Polynesian sauce
2) The chicken marinates in pickle juice overnight and comes with pepper in the breading. Delicious.
3) The Spicy Chicken Sandwich, with the addition of buffalo sauce and bleu cheese dressing, becomes the best Buffalo Chicken Sandwich for the price that you can buy.
4) Homemade biscuits
5) Peach shakes
6) The “My Pleasure” sign-off. I know the staff are trained to say that, but it’s still better than that blank, bored look, which I call the “Bovine Stare,” that I see on the faces of most people working in fast food restaurants.
The final reason that I appreciate Chik-fil-A is the cow mascots. The cows themselves in different costumes with their spelling and grammar handicaps I can give or take. I suppose certain people would describe their shenanigans on billboards around the country as “cute,” like Tangled, dachshunds in bumblebee costumes, and matching comforters in girls’ dorm rooms, but “cute” isn’t why I like the advertising. I like it because cows telling us all to eat chicken makes sense. Of course they want us to eat chicken. It decreases the likelihood that we’ll eat them.
Take, for example, the Chester’s Fried Chicken mascot: a white chicken with elephantiasis of the beak, a blue bandanna, a gold sheriff’s star, a foppish red cowboy hat with a yellow band, and a welcoming wing in the air: “Howdy? You folks hungry? Come on in and eat me and my family!”
That’s masochistic. I don’t like the idea of hurting the spokesperson. That would be similar to going to a UT Vols game and kicking Smokey the Bluetick Coonhound in the ribs.
Chester, you do know that we’ll be cutting off your wings and throwing them in a vat of boiling grease? We’re going to ring your neck, pluck your feathers, and then use a big knife to dismember you and separate your tastiest pieces. Wipe that idiotic grin off your face. We’re about to eat you. You’ve just worked yourself out of a job.
Why is it that every barbecue has a smiling, winking, or otherwise jovial pig pushing pork? America Fresh, an otherwise excellent Knoxville BBQ dive, had the sign in the picture outside its old location. The pig looks like a kid that just walked into a theme park. What does he have to be excited about? All his dreams of talking spiders saving his life, mud puddles, and slop buckets are over. Joe is about to smoke him over hickory chips for at least twenty-four hours. I understand why he’d be excited about the chicken option on the sign—like a inmate at a probation hearing—but he still hasn’t heard the ruling. He should be biting his metaphorical fingernails and pleading his case.
Wouldn’t a lobster begging “Please order the pulled pork!” be more appropriate? Or a tuna wearing a bib and shouting, “Please pass the ribs!”?
You don’t see a sign on my front door that says, “Come on in and punch my wife in the throat!”
Animals these days…they just don’t consider the consequences. Education is the key. We need to catch them early. I’m going to open a tofu and seitan restaurant. The mascot is a pig holding a white ceasefire flag. No more masochistic mascots for me.
If I wanted to feel sad while I ate, I’d go to Long John Silver’s.