Stewart I.
Yelp
Where do I begin? There's something broken in the efficiency of getting orders out because we were stuck for over an hour waiting for our order to go. Yes, over an hour. With a huge group of people in the restaurant and in a cluster by the counter waiting for food. I can count - hang on, I have the time - 29 of 32 people in here contemplating a complete absence of chicken.
Now, I'm not going to assume that it's easy for a KFC that's open until 1am in a major tourist destination to keep up with a Thursday night rush of hungry people. I know they're out of coleslaw. It might not even be the fault of employees or management. Something's wrong, though, and all I have is time to sit here and think of reasons why, when you think of the name of this place, the only thing I identify with is the fact that my brain is fried. No, not the chicken. No, not Kentucky. I hate fast food and my brain is fried from waiting almost 90 minutes now. Extra crispy. No food.
Someday I know this entry will be found on the floor of this KFC by an archaeogist who will refer to us as the modern Donner party. We never got chicken so we ended up eating ourselves. Everyone in the restaurant. (I realize I'm giving you something to read while you, no doubt, are waiting for your bucket of hopelessness to arrive)
(Pause as we get some, but not all, items from our order)
The children are now older. The adults, grey haired, wearing white with a fancy black tie. We now worship the Colonel and have sacrificed three of the slower moving adults. We watch through our now outdated phones news of the outside world. A KFC commercial streams on the little screen and we all instinctively drop to our knees.
A new generation of employees come in and pull chicken off the rack. We're saved.