I should start by saying it’s not true, technically. I haven’t been banned from Chick-fil-A.
Yet.
I do predict, however, that it is only a matter of time before I am served a restraining order by the East Lake Chick-fil-A in Marietta, GA. I wouldn’t blame them. Not even a little.
I want to take a second to chase a rabbit, of sorts. I want to say something to all of those mothers who sit in Chick-fil-A with their perfectly-behaved little children who are eating their perfectly-healthy grilled nuggets and their perfectly-portioned fruit cups (because we all know that perfect children don’t eat fries): I hate you. No, seriously. I hate you.
See, I’m the mom over in the corner. The one who’s worn and haggard and looks ten years older than she is. The one who’s yelling at her kid because he’s hiding his chicken nuggets down his pants by his…er…nuggets. My kids are the ones crying because their fries are gone and they don’t want their FRIED chicken nuggets, they want more of the greasy, starchy goodness that is the waffle fry. It’s my kids who are wailing and gnashing their teeth, simply because they aren’t allowed to trade their precious, stupid Chick-fil-A book awesome toy in for ice cream unless they eat a single dang chicken nugget. It’s not a french-fry restaurant. It’s a chicken restaurant. It’s not called “Fry-fil-A,” is it? So eat your daggum nuggets.
I digress.
I should probably share a little background before I start into what was the single most horrific Chick-fil-A event that has ever taken place in my life. I have what you might call a “history” with this restaurant. The East Lake Chick-fil-A, specifically.
You might remember a blog post I did a while back. It was called “Chick-fil-A Hates Me.” Click on the title if you want a good laugh. In short, it was an evening full of poop, pee, a contaminated playground (my kid’s fault), a screaming baby, an exploding milkshake, and a tantrum.
Last year my son suddenly became ill (at the same restaurant) and explosively vomited all over me and many other people and their food.
In hindsight, I wonder why I ever thought it was a good idea to return to the East Lake Chick-fil-A (or any Chick-fil-A, for that matter). But the chicken is just so good…
I guess I thought the worst was behind me. So I let my guard down. I settled in. I grew complacent, too trusting, probably. I thought I had this “taking kids out to eat” thing down to a science.
Until today.
The day started well enough. This morning I took my youngest son and picked up my dear friend’s kiddos because she recently broke her foot. Being the awesome person with the non-broken foot that I am, I took her kids for the day and brought them home. We baked cookies. We cooked spaghetti sauce. We played. Then I had a bright idea.
“Self,” I thought, “you should really take the kids to eat lunch somewhere to get them out of the house and give them some play time. Somewhere like…(wait for it)…CHICK-FIL-A!”
I piled everyone in the car and drove up to the infamous East Lake Chick-fil-A. It was smooth sailing. Lunches ordered: check. Lunches eaten: check. Ice creams ordered: check. Ice creams eaten: check.
Commence to playtime in the play place.
A good friend of mine was at Chick-fil-A with me, and we started talking. At this point, I thought I had it in the bag. Everyone had even gone to the bathroom, and they were playing well together. About five minutes into our conversation, though, two of the three kids ran out and told me they needed to pee. I left the other kid, the one who will henceforth be referred to as The Perpetrator, playing with my friend’s son while I took the other two to the potty. They took care of business and quickly were back on the playground, and I settled back into a chat with my friend, during which time I’m pretty sure she made the comment, “hey, isn’t it awesome, none of your people have peed or thrown up at Chick-fil-A today.” #canyousayforeshadowing?