Thursday, September 23, 2010

Sauce Stress

I love Chick-fil-a. I eat there at least twice a week. I used to work there. I gave them my best years of high school.
My point is this: I am pro Chick-fil-a.

Side note: I am not pro Spicy Chick-fil-a sandwich. This is the one area they fall short in my eyes, and it's ok. It's ok. But I'm just saying...Wendy's has them beat on this one. End of side note. WAIT! Back to side note: I don't care if you don't agree. Let's not argue. You're probably wrong. End of side note, for real.

Anyways, the crux of the matter: Chick-fil-a sauces, ready?... GO!
Buttermilk Ranch, Polynesian, Barbeque, Honey Mustard, Chick-fil-a, Buffalo, HONEY ROASTED BBQ (hello, grilled chicken sandwich, WHO'S YOUR DADDY?)

I just did that from memory, people. (then I googled it for accuracy. That’s neither here nor there.)

I know my sauces, ya'll. So why is it, WHY?! I ask, that when I'm at the drive-thru and faced with the question "Would you like any sauce with that?", I am absolutely paralyzed and rendered speechless--unable to think, let alone form words!

Immediately I break into a sweat. It's lunch are stacking up behind me, the 15 year old at the window is holding onto my bag of delicious and unwilling to let go unless I use the password to attain my lunch treat.

What's the password? Name a sauce, Wirth. ANY SAUCE!!

If I really had my wits about me, I'd just throw up a Hail Mary and resort to "No, thanks" or "ketchup, please". Right? But have you met me? Do I have wits about me? Would one say about me "Now there's a girl with her wits about her!"
I digress.

Usually there's an awkward, oh...4 seconds of extremely nervous eye contact on my part before I finally manage to spit out "ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm" for another 4 seconds.
Usually the kid at the window lets their mouth drop open juuust a little bit, as if to help me pronounce an actual word. As if by demonstrating, maybe I would catch on and mimic their actions. Sometimes they lean forward a little bit as if to WILL me to speak. At this point my mouth usually will catch up with my racing thoughts of "COME ON, WIRTH! SAY SOMETHING! SAY ANYTHING!" and I'll blurt out something like:
"buttermilk...honeys polynesian!"


"No! Buffalo!"

*sinks back in seat, relieved. accepts food without further eye contact. peels out of parking lot*

Am I the only one? I think I just demonstrated that I do, in fact, know my sauces. So what happens? Is it just that I’m that bad under pressure?
We may never know.

1 comment:

mattaltmix said...

haha, glad to see you're back!