Chic Fil A Rebellion

I absolutely love Chic Fil A. They’re fast, efficient, in your face cult-like friendly, and above all else, delicious. And that’s not all! They never seem to have a bad day. It’s true, every single time I say thank you for a job superbly done – and believe me, people, they deserve my thanks - the inevitable response is, and I quote, “My pleasure.” But I don’t buy it for a second. How in the world could serving me a coke, chicken sandwich, waffle fries, and a cookie be so damn pleasurable? It isn’t! Unless, of course, you drink the Kool-aid they offer their less than enthusiastic employees. Short of that, I’m gonna call bullshit.

Now, that being said, I had what some might refer to as a moment of awakening. I had just placed my order, acquired the proper condiments, sat down and awaited my meal. I was approached by a lady in her early to mid-fifties, well dressed with the appearance of a life well lived. She handed me my tray, took my table marker, and offered me my food. I smiled and as I so often do, thanked her for her service. It was then she said something so out of the ordinary for a Chic Fil  A employee that I almost choked on my waffle fries. She waited until our eyes met, and with her  head held high, she said to me…” You’re welcome!”

My heart dropped. I knew at that very moment we had shared an experience of passive-aggressive rebellion. She knew damn good and well the official Chic Fil A response is – and always will be -my pleasure. I smiled; she smiled, and we went on with our day. But make no mistake, people! That lady is a rebel. Thank you, passive-aggressive Chic Fil A employee…Thank you.