The rise of Chick-Fil-A

I've never been to this chain but I'm interested.

Maybe I'll hop in my truck and go there.

But then I'd pass a Sonic on the way and I'd be tempted to get a few of their chile dogs. And that would blow the whole project.

Here's the thing that I think is *high pitched* s-t-e-e-e-w *low pitched* pud. 

An activist spray painted across their pristine building, "The taste of hate."

What a hateful thing to do.

Don't you think?

How can one do that sanctimoniously without sensing hatred within themself? 

Did Chick-Fil-A go to their house and spray paint, "the taste of cock"?

How good can a fried chicken sandwich be? 

It's breaded cutlet on bread. A cutlet presumably marinated in buttermilk. I'm guessing. So, two breads right there. One of the bread is deep-fried. Better for the cutlet to be un-breaded and to be ensconced within an interesting salad, then surrounded by bread. 

Or for the un-breaded cutlet to be part of a nice crispy salad with interesting varied unexpected elements such as apple or pineapple, mango, crispy cucumber or berries and nuts, and the bread to be in the form of crunchy croutons. 

It's just that there is so much that can be done with chicken cutlet that's better than slapping it on white bread with few pickles. The whole thing doesn't even make sense. 

Now I want one. To confirm my chicken-cutlet on bread bias. 

Hey, Christian dudes. Read me some scripture while I am here.

I'm telling you, I cannot overstate this: Ordinary people whom you might not regard as particularly religious, treat me so graciously that it blows my mind. And this happens every single day. Most noticeably when I step out in public. Obviously. There is something about my look that evokes a response that is usually characterized as Christian, but I believe it is simply human. 

It's like God is making angels on imperfect earth. We are being spiritualized. It starts with an internal question, "God, what should I do?"

I honestly don't think that I look that pathetic but apparently I do. 

I don't need, or want or ask for anyone's help but it comes to me. Like I am a help-magnet. People look for ways to be helpful. People train their kids on me. "Hold the door open for the man, Honey. Step out of the way, Honey, so he can get by." 

People inside of restaurants see me coming and they get up from their table to open the door for me. 

Inside they help me around.

Going outside, the same thing. 

I keep hearing how the workers at Chick-Fil-A are more gracious than other fast-food places, they smile more, they say the right things more, but from my point of view, people are gracious everywhere. Everywhere. 

For example.

My brake line went out at Red Rocks Park but I didn't realize how serious the problem until 3/4 the way home where Golden Triangle Auto Repair is nearby. The brakes got worse and worse by the block as I made my way there through intense traffic. I pulled up in the back to an open bay.

Vastly relieved. I thanked God for helping me get there safely without issues.

A guy came out of the garage to chase me away as I was getting out of the truck. He was cross and aggressive. I must move my truck.

"Oh man, am I ever lucky I made it. I just want to get down and pray. It was like an angel was with me the whole way. My brakes went out!" 

The young man switched personalities immediately. 

Boom, complete transformation.

I just needed to leave the truck where it is and give him the keys. I can walk around to the front myself. Nobody is allowed to walk through the garage. Because it's a complete f'k'n mess with crap all over the place. Literally all over the place. Not a single clear inch to step. I'd much rather simply walk around the whole building than shortcut through the garage into the office. 

But he thought I needed the shortcut. 

So he took my arm at the elbow and carefully led be through his clutter. 

Most uncomfortably. He was freaking me out. I don't like being handled. 

But I allowed him to lead me through the clutter. Step. Step. Steppy-step. Step. Step. Step. Like I'm a blind man. He saw me safely to the office where I gave them the keys. 

He took care of me. In his way. 

Everyone does. 

I attract this kind of assistance. 

So from my point of view, everyone has a Christian heart. Even atheist do. The maid service woman who came here today to set up the service is Ethiopian Muslim and she shows the same Christian heart. The direct one-on-one goodness of people blows my mind. And it took becoming decrepit for me to see this very real beauty in people.