second mile setback

"I knitted this little cow toy for you while you were eating your waffle fries. It was my pleasure." -employee

I’m really feeling the random, rambling, short essay-type posts this week.  One of the benefits of having your own blog, besides the adoring fanbase, is being able to write about whatever random bit of fluff that drifts across your brain and then people actually read it.

It’s almost like being Carrie Bradshaw.

Kinda.

I’m about to say something that may/may not get me excluded from the Christian community.  I’m going to talk about Chick-fil-a’s “second mile service” and how much I DISLIKE IT.

What is second mile service?, you ask.  It’s when you go to Chick-fil-a, just wanting a simple chicken sandwich, and the employees come out to your car to take your order, or ask you for a drink refill 156 times, or say my pleasure at the end of every sentence.

What’s next? Hooking my brain up to electrical wires when I come in, so that I don’t have to go through the effort of speaking my order out loud?

Also, when the waitress comes to the table to take my order, I have the awkward internal debate about whether I need to tip her. Don’t do that to me, Chick-fil-a.  If I could afford wanted someone to call me by my name and put freshly ground pepper on my salad, I would go to a restaurant that didn’t make all of their meals out of differently shaped pieces of chicken.

END RANT.

P.S. I know that the technology for electrically reading minds doesn’t exist (yet). I did major in biology, you know.