"Four biscuits and a medium sweet tea."
"Four biscuits and a medium sweet tea? Anything else?"
"I didn't say anything."
"$4.50, drive around."
So I pay and get the little box, which now has the re-instated Colonel and the actual words "Kentucky Fried Chicken" written on there, and I hand it to Rowan.
"This isn't our order," she says, "there's chicken in here. And you're totally awesome."
Taking her oddly timed yet entirely correct compliment in stride, I inspected the box. Lo and behold it's four pieces of chicken and a biscuit. And not even a good mix either, like, three wings and a thigh. I think it was all from the same chicken, too. Perhaps in life he was nicknamed "X-wing" by his cruel chicken brethren, because of his extra wing.
So I pull back around to the front, walk in and slam the box down on the counter, causing chicken and biscuit to go flying all over. "Who fucked me?!" I yelled. "Whoever fucked me is gonna get damaged!"
Not really; I just gently got a cashier's attention and explained the situation. Well, I thought I explained the situation.
"This isn't what I ordered", I began, "I ordered four biscuits, but I got four pieces of chicken and one biscuit." Honest mistake really, if you're the one filling the order. But the woman at the drive-thru window tells the cashier that that is what I ordered, not five minutes after she had repeated my actual order back to my face.
Not wanting to cause trouble, I refrained from jumping over the counter and stuffing biscuits down my pants. There would be time for that later. No, I just asked for my biscuits so I could go in peace.
"You can keep the chicken, we'll get your biscuits."
"Oh, I don't want the chicken. I don't eat it, so that's cool. Thanks though."
"No really, we're not charging you for it."
"Really it does me no good. I don't eat chicken."
"Oh you a vegetarian?"
"No, I eat beef and pork and all that, just not chicken."
And that was the end of my explanation. The looks on their faces should have spurred me on to explain further, but I was in a hurry. I could tell, though, they were a bit dumbfounded by this guy who came to the KFC yet not only did he not eat chicken, chicken was the only meat he refused to eat.
When I got back in the car and told Rowan about my biscuiting adventure, she remarked that having chicken as your sole dietary restriction is one of the only cases where an explanation may be expected (in our case, it's because we have parrots).
Chicken is the one global meat that nearly everyone can agree on. There are no anti-chicken religions, it's mostly inoffensive to prepare, and many people agree that, of all meats, it's one of the healthiest. But if you've ever smelled a parrot or seen the breast of a plucked one, it's pretty much chicken-like in form and smell. Which, for us, makes eating chicken not as fun as it once was. Oh we tried eating it recently, just to see, and it...didn't turn out well.
Maybe if I owned a cow I wouldn't eat beef, or pork if I owned a pig. Maybe the only way I could go entirely vegetarian is if I owned a farm full of the world's tastiest animals. And, if it turned out that didn't make me go veg, at least I'd be well-stocked.