the lost weekend

So, though I vowed to blog everyday during Lent, I hit a bit of a stumble this weekend. And I have to say, once the blogging went, all of my Lenten resolutions fell off track. I had some soda. I didn’t do any stomach crunches. And then I figured that I’d done so poorly that I might as well have some chocolate as well.

What got me so badly off track? Here’s the thing. Earlier in the week I had been scanning what was happening this week in history on Wikipedia – that’s right, just because I’ve abandoned my weekly TWIH in history doesn’t mean that I don’t still check to see the week’s events. Lately they’ve been kind of boring, though, so I haven’t felt too bad about not posting a recap. Plus it seemed that no one liked that feature anyways. But I digress. In my Wikipedia research, I noticed that famed Chick-fil-a founder Truett Cathy’s birthday fell on March 14, a Saturday this year. And wouldn’t you know it, I was scheduled to eat with my family at the South Asheville Chick-fil-a on that very Saturday!

As you might imagine, the excitement was palpable. That’s why I didn’t blog on Friday. I was just too keyed up, wondering how each franchise would choose to celebrate their founder. Would we all get free chicken or ice cream? Would we all get our own dwarf, in recognition of the fact that the first Chick-fil-a was called the Dwarf House? Would there be, God help me, a Funfetti cake?

Well, there was cake alright, but it was only for a little girl who was having her birthday party at Chick-fil-a. For everyone else, there was nothing. Zip. Zilch. Nothing to honor the man that gave the world and its food courts a tasty variety of chicken products and waffle fries six days out of the week. Even those stupid cows couldn’t get it together to produce a misspelled sign along the lines of “Happi Berthdayy Truett.”

The fact that the South Asheville franchise was not honoring Truett Cathy sent me into a blind rage. I threw my box of chicken nuggets against the wall and smashed the little girl’s birthday cake. I ran into the play area, knocking little children out of my way. I climbed to the top of the playset, took some shots of honey mustard sauce and proclaimed for the whole restaurant to hear that this was Truett’s day, dammit, and we needed to bless our chicken sandwiches in his honor. At that point I think I went into an off-subject rant about how it’s nearly impossible to prove that he actually invented the chicken sandwich, as the store’s marketing claims, but then I got back on subject by singing an impromptu opera about pickles. After my song, I spread my arms and fell backwards into the ball pit.

Then, as I rested in the ball pit, a vision of Truett Cathy appeared to me. He extended an arm to me, as if he was offering me a college scholarship for my commitment to the company. He pulled me up, and we waltzed around the store. I whispered “Happy birthday” and thanked him for the dance, and he whispered, “My pleasure,” just as every employee does when they refill your drink. But his “My pleasure” was not perfunctory or accompanied by a scowl, the way some employees say it. His was heartfelt. I think I fainted in his arms.

The next thing I knew, I was lying on the ground with my family standing around me, pouring the contents of their Styrofoam cups on my face to revive me. I did not feel guilty, for I knew they could get refills. I was drenched in iced tea and sweat, but I had done my duty. I had honored Truett.

Slowly, I got to my feet and headed for the condiment station, because I wanted to fill out a comment form to let this Chick-fil-a franchise owner know what I thought of his lack of loyalty and tradition (for those very loyal blog readers out there, this was in fact the same Chick-fil-a where I filled out a comment card regarding the lack of Diet Coke. You may have thought that was silly, but there’s currently Diet Dr. Pepper and Coke Zero at that Chick-fil-a. Who’s laughing now?). Anyways, they didn’t have any comment cards available, which in and of itself is an offense that I would mention on a comment card, if one were available. I think that’s what they call a Catch-22.

Anyways, that’s why I didn’t blog, and why everything went downhill so fast. But I’m back on track now. I think we can all agree that being tempted by the devil in the desert is basically the same as your hometown Chick-fil-a not recognizing its founder. Totally and completely the same.