Uhm...I'll take the combo...with a side of nasty attitude, please...

The plan was to have a healthy meal.

But there is nothing to eat, healthy or otherwise along highway 98 in Durham, and I only had 37 minutes.

OK…KFC…they’re making that grilled chicken now, right (which, incidentally, defeats the whole purpose of the name KFC…wonder what they’re going to do about that now…anyway…not my problem). Yes. That…and a salad and I should be good to go.

No line! JACKPOT!!

I go in and walk up to the counter.

--Blank stare.--

“Hello”, I say.

“Can I take yo orda?” So much for pleasantries. If I wanted to make friends, I would have gone to Panera.

“Uhm, do you have any salads?”

--Blank stare.--

“Uhm, I mean…salad…you know…like, lettuce, tomato…croutons?”

“We have co slaugh.”

“But no salad, huh? OK…I’d like two grilled thighs with cole slaw and a diet Pepsi, please.”

Toya - that’s what her chicken spattered name tag says - does her register magic.

“$7.74”

“Uh…$7.74??? I thought the combo was $5.”

Toya was clearly irritated. “You want a combo?”

“Yes. A combo.” I point to the picture, hoping that the visual will make this less complicated and stressful for Toya. “Two pieces, one side, and a drink.”

Toya looks at the picture. Then the register. Then me. “I need a supavisa.”
It must have been very busy in the back, because it took Shaneeka, Shift Supervisor (according to her name tag), next to forever to arrive to resolve the dilemma.

“She want a combo, but she had ordered this.” She points at the register screen. I am temporarily distracted by the diamond stud in her nose. Clearly, this enormous chicken miscalculation is entirely MY fault.

Shaneeka looks at me with what I sense is disgust, inserts her supervisor key, punches a few buttons, and voila… She walks away with no words.

Toya informs me that my new, correct total is $5.34. She is so pleasant. I understand why she is at the register and not in the kitchen. What a sweetheart! And so bright, too.

I hand her a $20.

Clearly the stress of my chicken ordering faux-pas is taking it’s toll on Toya. I hope it is close to break time for her. She looks like she needs a cigarette. She punches in $10.00 and hands me $4.66.

I stand there with my hand outstretched, hoping that Toya will realize, of her own volition, the error of her ways. She looks at me. I look at her with my classic Kevin Spacey impression--a little ignorance, a little compassion, and a whole lotta “I‘m about to go postal“. I wait. The rocket scientist says nothing. Nilda at the end of the counter is ON IT, because my tray - the combo…not to be confused with two thighs, a side, and a drink…is ready and waiting.

Toya wins, because I speak first. “I gave you a $20 and this is what you gave me back.”

She looks at my still outstretched palm.

“I need a supavisa!”

Shaneeka is even more displeased with me this time than the last. Toya explains MY error, and eventually I get my full $14.66. But what an ordeal.

The damn chicken wasn’t even that good. I thought they said that they “do chicken right“. Good thing the ad doesn’t reference the customer service.