Hey, Chick-Fil-A, I Need You To Slow The F#%k Down
An open letter asking for more dysfunction at the drive-thru.
Dear Chick-Fil-A Manager,
Could you please do whatever’s necessary to decelerate your drive-thru line?
Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate prompt service. I admire how your staff of millennials, in their black pants with crisscrossed suspenders, race to an SUV backed up to the interstate just to nab their chicken nugget order.
I am similarly blown away at the pickup window, where I can’t even slow to a rolling stop before some freckled lad shot-puts me my waffle fries like a pass from Magic Johnson.
The experience takes less time than I spend flossing. That doesn’t include the precious seconds I have to check my order before some kid in a fluorescent vest urges me to keep moving. Apparently, six cars behind me have received their food and are trying to get to Little League.
I’m asking you to temper your team because I need some time to myself — a lot of it. I volunteered to pick up dinner after my teenage son inadvertently (?) knocked the casserole dish out of my wife’s hands. Their subsequent shouting match segued from who should clean it to why the family’s dysfunction can be traced to my cheating at Jenga five years ago. I had to get out of there before the dog vomited the green beans.
I was hoping they’d ask for Burger King, Taco Bell, or if they really wanted greasy chicken, KFC. My expectation was to sit in a drive-thru line and relax with my Cool Songs by Hot Chicks playlist going, not bothered by the dysfunction ahead of me. Go ahead, pre-teens, get your manager to help you answer a question about the nutritional value of a chalupa. I’m going to chill with my phone and learn about fifteen products so amazing, I’ll wonder how I got through life without them.
When it was my turn to order, I’d welcome the confusion that would come from adding a special request, like an extra drinking straw. I’d also be sure to add and subtract side orders at least three times, ensuring a delay that would allow me to secretly hum along with Genie in a Bottle a little longer.
With my order placed, I’d start a new Words With Friends match, knowing the process to remove pickles from my Whopper Jr. would require a staff meeting.
But none of this was going to happen because you chose to run your company with something called “efficiency.” You train your employees to ‘hustle’ and provide “customer service.” Shame on you. You know these concepts don’t fly in corporate America, right?
I’m hungry, but I really don’t want to go home. This is the first time I’ve had a moment alone since I feigned diarrhea at Legoland. I desperately needed the authentic drive-thru experience, not this two-lane, order-in-advance bullshit. What’s the hurry? Are you trying to get home to your kids? Trust me: you want to slow down.
Teach those yuppies with the iPads and wrist braces how to loaf, lollygag, and flat-out not listen. If you can’t, I’ll have no choice but to return when I know your efforts rival the speed I can expect at other fast food joints.
In other words, see you Sunday.
