The Pony and I were batching it again this evening, if by "batching" it, you buy into the premise that we are both unmarried men of marriageable age. Some of you, perhaps, misread that key word, substituting the third vowel for the first, and wondered aloud, "THIS EVENING? Val is ALWAYS bitc--OH! She said BATCHING!"
Hick
was not yet home from his business trip. He had stopped to take Genius out to
dinner. If, by "dinner," you buy into the premise that Steak n Shake
is a place people go for the evening meal.
I
dropped into the gas station chicken store for a naughty mid-week 44 oz. Diet
Coke. As I got out of T-Hoe, I noticed the parking space next to me was
littered with bones. Not human bones, of course. What do you think we are
around here, barbarians? We dispose of our murder victims the proper way,
inside of old septic tanks, with their head detached. Truth really is stranger
than fiction.
In
line to pay for my magical elixir, I turned to the chicken counter. My regular
guy popped around the warmer. "Hello there! What can I get you?"
"Well,
I wasn't going to have chicken tonight. But when I pulled in, I noticed that
your parking lot was littered with bones. That must be some extra special
chicken. People can't wait to eat it."
"Huh.
The parking lot was clear an hour ago when I took my smoke break."
"It
looked like wing bones."
"Oh!
Two guys were just in here, and all they wanted was wings." He went about
putting my order into a sack. Talked me into some fat fries that I had not
planned on, either. And don't let this out, because it's how rumors get
started, but during our interaction, he gave me a little thigh. Shh…I warned
you.
Yes.
He literally gave me a little thigh. I found it when I got home. He does that
quite often, slips me a little something special in the bag. Mostly it happens
when the stuff in the warmer is getting old. Or the pieces are especially
small. He's a good guy. If I ever strike it rich on a scratch-off ticket, he
will be remembered.
So, you folks in the country have "chicken counters" who are employed by the gas station? (You said you turned to the "chicken counter.")
ReplyDeleteDo these employees run around and keep the chickens counted behind the gas station, as they ready the chickens for the head-chopping?
Or, is this chicken so delectable, people have to be hired with the express purpose of keeping a constant count of the chicken in the warmer trays/cases?
Or, does the gas station like to have the chicken pieces in groups, and just like students in most public schools, as soon as you start them counting off into groups (1, 2, 3, 4, 5...1, 2, 3, 4, 5 and so on) they immediately forget what number they said?
Which is it?
And here I thought you were slipping HIM a little thigh. You do have some experiences at that chicken store.
ReplyDeleteNo cheap gratuitous sexual innuendo comment from me. No sir, I have some class.
ReplyDeleteA little thigh is okay. Just hope that cranky cashier doesn't give you a big breast.
ReplyDeleteThighs are my favorite part of the chicken. Yum!!!!
ReplyDeleteSioux,
ReplyDeleteThe chicken counters make sure two of each piece go into the 8-piece box special. The chicken used to be delectable. Now the pieces look like Cornish hen appendages. Less chicken, same price. Just like other food purveyors are scamming. At least it's tasty. And I like the people who run the store.
*****
LInda,
Val slips no one any amount of thigh. I have experiences at that gas station chicken store. But nothing fit for a Penthouse Forum that might be bought along with a Clark Bar by a Humpty Dumpty with a melon head in order to break a $100 bill at the newsstand.
******
joeh,
I would never expect such a comment from you. I might expect you to snigger about it behind your hand, making noises like Muttley, but I would never expect you to type out such a comment. That kind of stuff you reserve for your blog.
*****
Leenie,
I shudder at the thought.
*****
Stephen,
I agree. The most tasty morsel on the fowl.