You won't believe my stroke of good luck yesterday! Uh huh! It has to do with the gas station chicken store. Yes, I bought a lottery ticket there. But it didn't win. That's not my stroke of good luck.
first I thought I was going to have bad luck, because I bypassed that
place on the way to mail two bills (yes, I DO pay them, when I GET them)
at the dead mouse smelling post office, when there was only one car in
the parking lot...and when I came back to do my business, there were six
or seven trucks.
The work crews had stopped to pick up
lunch, of course. So they were lined up four deep at the
chicken-ordering counter. I went on to the soda fountain. My magical
elixir has been especially delicious of late from their tap. The guys in
white painters jeans ahead of me picked up their chicken dinners and
their four-pieces and fried pies, and got in line to pay.
Man Owner was working the register, and the Wife Owner was
slinging chicken. I think she was training a new fryer. The old fryer
kept making an appearance, but she had just dropped a batch and was back
to the kitchen forthwith. The Wife Owner took my order, wrote it on the
ticket, and told the new boy that she needed an eight-piece. That's
"Two breasts, two thighs, two legs, two wings."
opened the box and slid it along the counter, while he reached into the
glass-fronted case with tongs to snag pieces from the stainless steel
tubs. Which were nearly depleted. It was, after all, 11:00. You gotta
get there pretty early in the morning to get the first batch of lunch
"We only have two legs left!"
They looked at each other.
"Well, we have enough for this box. And she's going to have that next batch ready."
when it hit me. Did I dare, I wondered, make a suggestion to the Wife
Owner? She runs a tight ship. Everyone is always walking on eggshells
when she's present, which has been a lot, lately. Still. I didn't work
for her. I was a paying customer, doggone it! Who single-handedly keeps
their business afloat with my daily 44 oz Diet Coke, and lottery and
"Um...if you're short on legs, I could take thighs instead..."
"Oh! Really? You don't mind?"
"No. I like the thighs better. My husband likes the legs, but he'll never know I gave them up."
think the thighs are the best part, myself! Okay. Put those two legs
back in case somebody wants them, and give her two more thighs. I hope I
can fit them in this box!"
Yep. Mrs. HM got herself an
eight-piece box with two breasts, four thighs, and two wings. Let the
record show that one of those thighs was of enormous proportions, like
they used to have all the time. It was as big as a breast, by cracky!
usually have two pieces for lunch, two for lunch the next day, and give
the legs and wings to Farmer H for a meal. Not this time. That's three
lunches! With SLAW on the side! Farmer H is still welcome to the wings.
And if he doesn't want them, I'm sure my Sweet, Sweet Juno will enjoy
the drumette and radius/ulna parts, and Jack the flappy wing flat tips.
Never be afraid to suggest thigh replacements at your gas station chicken store!