I think what initially got me was the countdown. A countdown? For food? That's...that's...well that's genius!!
And as the day drew nigh, I knew that not only would I buy, but that I would love the new KFC Double Down.
For me, though, it ended up that the sandwich wasn't even half the story. You see, I had no idea that at 9:45 PM on a Wednesday night was when KFCs turned into some sort of quasi-reality...like a mix of Tim Burton and David Lynch films.
The first thing I noticed upon entering the pit of despair was rhythmic chewing and scooping.
Dazed look...chew...chew...scoop...dazed look...chew...chew...scoop.
Each table's occupant was a little more...um...portly? than the last...and there were no smiles. None to be seen. Just scooping. And chewing. Mashed potatoes looked popular, though.
As I made my way to the front of the restaurant, I was halted by two Indian men who were trying to complete their orders. I was amazed by them for two very important reasons:
(1) They were clearly at the KFC together when I thought this was a no-friend zone. The other patrons would look up from time-to-time confused at sounds that appeared unwelcomed or maybe just unusual to them...the sounds were of interpersonal communication.
(2) And I hope this doesn't sound rude, but I think I can use my personal experience as an ESOL instructor to comment upon this...these two guys had THE WORST ACCENTS I had ever heard in my life. The more normal of the two cashiers gave it a go...but this got a little old:
Yes..I wut likea pis of chikin plis.
OK...how many pieces?
Are der wery meny en abuckeet?
Yes, a buckeet.
Although only third in a line at a fast food place, I didn't get to order for about twenty minutes. This made me wery, wery, irritated.
Bill and Ted...Bundy
I already mentioned the more normal of the two cashiers, which actually is saying something. This "normal" guy was HIGH as a kite...higher than the two Indian guys...and higher than the scooper-chompers at the tables. His eyes were like a couple of bloody marys floating on his shit-eating-grin-of-a-face. But this guy was nothing...NOTHING...because about ten minutes into my time at KFC...I locked eyes (or eye) with Marty Feldman's grandson..and this guy didn't stop mad dogging me the rest of my stay.
Here's Mark...here's one of Marty's eyes. There's Mark...there's one of Marty's eyes.
Will Somebody Please Think about the Children
But my favorite part of this entire evening had to be when the future McPoyle Brothers from It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia came in with their mom??? and insisted on saying things such as the following:
Are you Mexican? to cashier #1
EWWWW, whoa to cashier #2
I want a BURRITOOOOOOOOOOOOOO to everyone?
Do you have hot sauce? How hot? Is it hot hot or just hot? I don't like hot hot...but I like hot. Mr., what's wrong with your eye?
And while clearly at least ten-years-old...and on amphetamines...their mom??? simply ignored them. To the best of my knowledge, she was deaf.
After about fifteen minutes of sitting around and, I presume, someone going out back and slaughtering my chicken for me, I got my Double Down. What I thought would be a nice, little five-minute stop, ended up taking well over thirty minutes...
So, I walked out the door...slowly...while watched by an eye...and listening to some odd mashup of how wery gut the chicken wings were and cheese is good...CHEESE IS GOOD...CHEEEEEESE IS GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD.
...and I was the only non-high person at the KFC