What did I ever do to you, Chick-fil-A employees?

Where I live, there is only one Chick-fil-A with a drive-thru window. Actually, there are two, but one is not on my way to the Interstate, and as good as those waffle fries are I am not willing to drive 45 minutes out of my way at 6:00 on a Monday morning. I might, however, be better off making that trip (thus having to leave my house at 5:15 am to get to work) than going to my regular CFA, because the crew of that particular unit have made it clear that I am just not welcome there.

Now, I am not bragging about my fastfood prowess or anything, but I've done some time at a Chick-fil-A myself. Actually, it was at three separate Chick-fil-A's, over an approximately seven-year period. Okay, I am kind of bragging. I was good. I mean, like, good. I was so awesome in fact that the company flew me to Atlanta (first freakin' class- what up?!?) for a super special leadership training seminar. So awesome that I took my picture with the president of the company. So awesome in fact that they gave me an Awesomeness scholarship when I was in law school. In any event, I speak with authority when I say that it is NOT hard to put together the items on their menu.

Anyway, I used to make it a habit to order from this particular Chick-fil-A damn near every Monday morning. If you want to get really technical, when I was still in school I used to eat their breakfast almost every day. The crew always used to be really good at making my breakfast, but I think that I must have done something to offend them. Or they are just bitter that I have gone vegetarian, and no longer order chicken at their chicken restaurant. There's no way that they could know that though, so I think the people who work in the back (where the food is made) just can't read.

I always order the same thing: One buttered biscuit with extra butter, one egg biscuit with cheese and extra butter, and one large sweet tea. I will show you how this would be rung up on the cash register, with each button denoted by its own set of parentheses:

(buttered biscuit)(+)(butter)

(egg biscuit)(+)(cheese)(+)(butter) or (buttered biscuit)(+)(egg)(+)(cheese)(+)(butter) - it depends on how the register is set up

(large)(sweet tea)

(total)

That doesn't seem so hard, does it? And it's not. In fact, the workers who ring up my order always seem to get it right. It's the people who read the screen in the back that tells them what to make-- they are the problem. When the cash register person rings up that order, this is what the person in the back sees:

1 BUTTER BIZ

+ BUTTER

1 EGG BIZ

+ CHEZ

+ BUTTER

Or they see some variation, of that wording, depending on the programming of their registers. They don't even see the drink. All that they have to worry about is taking the main menu item, and adding things to it. They cannot do this to save their lives, at least not when it comes to my order.

I visited this Chick-fil-A four Mondays in a row about two months ago before I gave up for a while. I ordered my usual, and this is what I received:

Monday #1: One egg biscuit with no cheese and regular amount of butter, and a buttered biscuit with extra butter.

Monday #2: One cheese biscuit with no egg and extra butter, and a buttered biscuit with extra butter.

Monday #3: My order was correct! Huzzah!!!

Monday #4: One chicken biscuit with egg and no cheese and regular butter, and one regular buttered biscuit.

Once! They got it right ONCE! They didn't even really come close the rest of the time, extra for when all they forgot was the cheese and extra butter. Extra butter really isn't all that important. All it does it make me sound like a fatass for ordering it. It's not even really butter anyway... It's "bun oil." I know. Sounds yummy! It actually is yummy, but that's beside the point.

I gave up for some time, immensely frustrated. Then, this morning I returned. I was going to be late for work anyway, because I had a doctor's appointment. Side note: My doctor agrees that I am extremely stressed out, which causes panic attacks and a weird pain in my temple that makes my eye a little blurry. I wonder what causes it? Probably the total fuckery that I deal with on a regular basis, including when I am just trying to order my damn breakfast! (Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale...) Anyhoo...

I pulled up to the drive-thru speaker, and made sure to articulate my order very clearly. One egg biscuit with cheese and extra butter. One buttered biscuit with extra butter. One large sweet tea. I held my breath.

When I got the bag, it felt like it was the right weight. My hopes rose. I opened the larger of the two wrapped biscuits, and carefully inspected it. Egg! Cheese! Greasiness! It was everything I'd hoped for. I happily hopped onto the Interstate, and proceeded to drive with a large sweet tea balanced between my knees, my iPod turned up and my eggy-cheesy-buttery goodness in my hand. It's important for me to keep current with my auto insurance, because driving like this is bound to go badly for me one day.

I munched my way through the first biscuit, and pulled out my buttered biscuit with extra butter. I saw a sticker on top of the foil that said "NO BUTTER." I thought to myself that maybe they ran out of the "EXTRA BUTTER" stickers, and they were just trying to mark this one as different. I opened the foil, and there it was. No freaking butter. Not even cut in half. They just wrapped up a biscuit chunk and threw it in my bag. They probably flipped me the middle finger as I drove off. I picked at my boring little biscuit for a little while as I sulked, but it wasn't nearly as good as it could have and should have been.

I was robbed, once again. It cannot be an accident at this point. Well, I refuse to be a pawn in their sick little game. Laugh now, Chick-fil-A crew. Laugh it up!! You won't have me to kick around anymore, because I QUIT!!! I'll just go back to my usual breakfast of ADD medication and Coca-Cola, and I won't even miss you. Well, maybe just a little.

Sigh. Who am I kidding? I already miss those little spelling-challenged cows from their advertisements! Wait... I think I just figured out who taught the guy making my food how to read! Stupid cows.