Chicken will never be the same

Yesterday I went to the local chicken joint in order to pick up a bucket (or the local equivalent) and feed whatever family members might actually show up for dinner.

After enduring the drive-up lane for an insulting amount of time I made it to the remote communication monolith and placed my order.

“I want a ten piece dinner with beans and potato salad.”

“Would you like that fried or rotisserie?” the speaker scratched back at me.

“I would like it half and half”, I replied.

“Would you like six fried and four rotisserie or six rotisserie and four fried?” the tower of impersonal communication asked.

WTF????  The last time I checked, half of ten was five, not six and four. I was almost speechless. At this point I was crushed and gave up on all humanity.

“Six fried”, I told the faceless box of confusion.

When I arrived home and opened the box that I now had a certain emotional investment in, I learned that I received all fried.

Chicken will never be the same to me.