Perfection. Perfection is a something that is impossible to achieve, and I think that’s something we can all agree on. However, this rule does not seem to apply to a certain group of people. A certain group of overachieving godsends hailing directly from another dimension or possibly heaven itself.
Who am I talking about you ask?
By setting such an unattainable standard for human behavior and existence, these workers are revealing just how miserably inferior the rest of us are.
These people are physically unable to do wrong. I’m fully convinced they are some kind of magical breed of human that God forgot to apply flaws to. Have you ever met anyone as friendly and efficient as a worker at Chick-fil-A?
I once asked for extra Chick-fil-A sauce and the employee responded with, “Are twelve sauces okay?” Fuck yeah twelve are okay, Chick-fil-A pleasure-bot.
Their drive-thru is essentially a red carpet laid out for you to pull your shitty car onto and immediately receive five-star service that you absolutely don’t deserve. By being the most bubbly and inviting people on the planet, the workers force you to realize just how much of a worthless piece of shit you are. Their beaming smiles and impossible-to-hate demeanors essentially command you to come to the conclusion that you hate yourself.
As you pull up to the drive-thru, a worker is already frantically sprinting to your car to take your order as if their family is being held at gunpoint in the back of the restaurant. Chick-fil-A doesn’t believe you should be bothered to order at a window, they come to you. The drive-thru line can span five fucking parking lots and you will never spend longer than seven minutes there. It’s fucking wizardry. They even call you by your name.
Once you hear your name as you pull up to get your food, you immediately become all warm and fuzzy at the fact that a stranger respected you enough to use it. But, then you realize how sad that truly is. Before you can even think of a way to properly respond to their immaculate small talk at the window, they are smiling into your soul and handing you a bag of deep fried deliciousness.
As you awkwardly mumble a pathetically generic farewell and pull away, there might as well be a sign at the end of the drive-thru that says, “Enjoy, dickweed. Now go fuck yourself and rethink your life.”
But of course, there isn’t. Because no one at Chick-fil-A has ever so much has felt a hint of animosity. They’re too perfect.
If you choose to eat inside the restaurant, you will be surrounded by unnecessarily cheerful workers (robots?) who will tend to your every need and desire. I once asked for extra Chick-fil-A sauce (aka edible liquid gold) at the counter (keep in mind that three sauces are usually more than enough for a large meal) and the employee responded with, “Are twelve sauces okay?” Fuck yeah twelve are okay, thank you, Chick-fil-A pleasure-bot.
As you're stuffing your face at one of the tables, the workers will hover around giving you free drink refills and offering to do your taxes. It is truly a mystical domain of convenience and fulfilled dreams.
Some of the customers at a Chick-fil-A are the same usual slobs you would expect to encounter at a typical fast food restaurant, except, there’s something different about them. They seem happier. More self-assured. The 350-pound man sporting an Old Navy t-shirt and stuffing fries into his mouth between self-pity tears that you’d normally see at a Mickey D’s is now happily gulping down deep-fried chicken patties like there’s no such thing as heart disease.
The Chick-fil-A employees are to thank for this.
They create a fast-food safe space, where you never feel judged or looked down upon for ordering $30 worth of food. You feel accomplished. Whether or not enabling human water buffaloes is a good thing, is up to you. But it’s just another customer satisfaction notch in the belt for Chick-fil-A. Another reason for you to rethink your own life. I mean, if you’re someone who has problem with seeing fat people stuff their faces guilt-free, aren’t you basically just a piece of shit? The Chick-fil-A workers don’t have a problem with fatties, why do you, you name-calling shitbag?
No matter how you slice it, the average Chick-fil-A employee is a better human than you. They’re perfect. Don’t even attempt to argue it. If you don’t believe me, head to your nearest Chick-fil-A and see for yourself. Your stomach will be full, but your self-worth will be low. Even if they are robots, they still beat us out as humans, and will probably run the world soon. (Part of me thinks the real reason they are closed on Sundays is due to robotic maintenance.)
In either case, I’m still going to go to Chick-fil-A, I’m still going to get twelve sauces, and I’m still going to feel a little happy every time they call me by my name. I guess in a sense, Chick-fil-A employees are the heroes that we need, but not the ones we deserve.