I’m sitting inside a Chick-fil-a right now. I don’t get CFA (as we junkies call it) very often because the only one close to my house is in the mall, and getting out of the car toting a one-year-old just for a chicken fix kind of defeats the purpose.
But the stars aligned, and after numerous errands on the other side of town, I find myself sitting in the swankiest fast food restaurant chain in America.
I love this place. I love that everyone who works here acts genuinely pleased to hand me a giant sweet tea, as if I just fulfilled the prophecy of Combo #4. I love that they give me sticky place mats and packets of Purell (FOR FREE!) because they see me carrying a baby on my hip, then offer to bring my food to me so I don’t have to treat the entire staff to my juggling act (as impressive as it is). I love that in the time I’ve been sitting here, someone behind the register has greeted a customer BY NAME no less than four times (and not the way Starbucks acts like we’re BFFs just because I told them my name so they could write it on my cup in case I blanked later). I love that they have Hospitality Staff making the rounds, topping off drinks and cooing over children (although, to be fair, cooing over my children is an automatic win in my book). I love their Polynesian sauce, which I’m pretty sure is made out of manna from Heaven.
I love that most, if not all, of my memories of sitting inside a Chick-fil-a with endless Dr. Pepper are tied to significant, soul-feeding conversations with some of my favorite people ever ever ever.
I also love those cows. They’re so illiterate!
So tell me…are you craving chicken yet?