Finger Lickin’ Bad

I work at a fast food place that sells chicken. Grilled chicken, chicken tenders, and boneless or traditional wings are our only options, and it states so on the giant sign outside.

Me: “Welcome to [Fast Food Place]; will this be for here or to go?”

Tourist Wife: “To go. We’ve never been here, so we’ll need a moment.”

Me: “Of course! If you have any questions about the menu, please ask me. But our most popular meal is the plate.”

Tourist Husband: “No, do you have any bucket deals? We have to bring it back to four kids.”

Me: “We have a twenty-piece finger or wing box.”

Tourist Wife: “No he means like real chicken.”

Me: “Um… You mean thighs and legs and such as that?”

Tourist Wife: “Yes, like Kentucky-fried chicken?”

I give directions to KFC.

Me: “Or there is a place like Popeye’s right there.”

Tourist Wife: “No, we’re in Kentucky. We want real Kentucky-fried chicken, not these fake chicken fingers.”

I’m at a loss. I have no idea where to find “real chicken” this time of night, and I don’t even think if we have a place like that in town.

Me: “I really do apologize. I’m afraid there is no real Kentucky chicken here. Our company is based out of [Another Southern State]. I assure you, though, that the chicken we do have is the best in the industry, delivered fresh daily and made right every time.”

Tourist Husband: “I think we’re done here. I can’t feed my kids fake chicken.” 

Me: “Well, have a safe trip and good luck!”

Manager: “What was that about?”

Me: “How dare you?! Trying to pass off fake chicken as real? For shame!“

Manager: “Uh, chicken tenderloin is real chicken.”

Me: “No. It’s not real unless it has bones in it and is fried by the ghost of Colonel Sanders himself!”

Manager: “Did you direct them to KFC?”

Me: “Not Kentucky enough.”

Manager: “…”