KFC...no grilled chicken for me...

You know...I get that there aren't that many eating establishments here in Vicksburg. When I first moved here, I drove all over town looking for a Boston Market. I guess I should have looked in the phone-book first, but what can I say. I never did find one, but I did find the Chexican restaurant in our pseudo-mall.

Chexican...you ask?

Yes...the Chinese restaurant run by a Mexican family. Chexican. Sadly, the food tastes neither Mexican, nor Chinese. It tastes like fluffy nothing. There also used to be a Chinese restaurant over there by Fred's. The one and only time I ventured in there...the special of the day was sweet and sour catfish balls. You know I had to try one.

My mother always taught me that it was impolite to spit food out that others have cooked. Your own nasty concoction, if spat politely...fine. Other peoples...you better choke it down. That day, I did choke down that nasty catfish ball, but vowed that I would be a little more discriminant after that. Sniff first, politely beg off (if possible), or make sure you have lots of liquids available to help wash it down, just in case.

So, the other day, I saw a sign that our local KFC is now serving grilled chicken. Alright!!, I thought. I got in the drive through line, eagerly anticipating my healthy grilled chicken lunch. I was only 4 cars back, which usually equals 25 minutes of waiting time in our little burg. We aren't exactly known for our speediness, which is why I always have a book on hand.

Seventeen minutes later, with no less than 3 cars behind me now, I make it to the intercom.

Bored voice: Welcome to KFC, can I take your order?

Damyankee: Yes, m'am...I would like to order two grilled chicken breasts, please.

KFC: Silence, following by some crackly static.

Damyankee:Pardon??

KFC: Could you repeat your order?

Damyankee:Two Grilled Chicken Breasts. Please. M'am.

KFC: M'am. We don't sell the grilled breasts individually. You have to buy a bucket.

Damyankee:Pardon? (which is Southern for What in the Hell are you talking about???)

KFC: Buck-et. You have to buy a bucket of them.

Damyankee:I don't want a bucket. I just want a couple of them.

KFC: You gotta buy the bucket.

Damyankee: Seriously, I do not want an entire bucket of chicken for lunch. Just a couple of pieces. In fact, just one piece will do. (Ideally, you should never show them how desperate you are)

KFC: M'am, would you just pull up to the window.

Great, now I am in trouble. Unfortunately, I could not pull up to the window anytime soon as there were still 2 cars on front of me. I couldn't back out either, with all of the cars behind me. Ordinarily, I would have just gotten out of line, and avoided the "window of shame", but I was ....stuck...grrr.

I just know I am not getting any chicken now. *sigh*. And even if they do give me some chicken, I bet it will be some "special" grilled chicken...rubbed on God knows what nasty body part of theirs first. (and yes, I was envisioning my bucket-o-chicken being rubbed on the drive-through lady's butt)

So, I get to the window, and I could tell that I have completely pissed her off by trying to order something that is just completely out of the realm of happening in her little fiefdom. Apparently, although they are a CHICKEN place, and DO IN FACT sell grilled chicken, and you can buy individual pieces of chicken that are FRIED (original recipe or extra crispy), GLAZED, or BB-Q'd, you cannot buy anything less an ENTIRE BUCKET of grilled chicken under any circumstances no matter what.

To this I say: Pardon????

So, I went back to work and ate a nasty lean cuisine and stewed. I contemplated writing KFC, but I am sure all that will net me is a couple of free coupons to a restaurant that I am probably no longer welcome at. For whatever reason (that I cannot fathom), people tend to remember me, and that will pretty much guarantee me the "special" rubbed-on chicken. Yay.