Three-Fifths of a Fist of Chicken

Remember the good old days, when I’d update this site fairly regularly, with sometime entertaining (at least attempted), sometime inane postings about Nothing In Particular?
Then I kind of fell off the Blog Bandwagon.  I began to have trouble justifying to myself the bother of writing my stupid little bits of uselessness, and my number and regularity of posts dropped dramatically.
But, now, though, I feel I must return a bit to the old days and report on the saga of the chicken fingers.

It had been quite a while since I went back for chicken fingers to that place where the guy treated me well (or did he?  perhaps he treated everyone equally well…) by giving me 5 big fingers of chicken and copious amounts of fries.  Why did I stop going?  Well, I got tired, for one, of eating chicken fingers once a week, and for two, sometimes I went and they didn’t have chicken fingers.  That was enough to keep me away for a month or two.
Yesterday, I went back, and the Generous Guy was nowhere to be seen (in fact, I noticed as I’d walk by that he’s been there less and less lately, usually replaced by a early-20’s girl). Now, there was an older woman who waited on me and an older guy who was kind of hovering.  It had a real feel of New Management.
How would that affect my chicken finger supply?  Well, as the title of this post suggests, I got three fingers only.  And not big fingers like Generous Guy used to give me.  Three piddly little chicken fingers (but still a large amount of fries).  I almost complained about how I used to get 5 fingers, but I didn’t bother.  I didn’t like the vibe of the new people and the chicken fingers’n’fries thing had been not doing if for me lately, so instead of complaining, I figure I’ll just not go back much, if at all.
While I was there, an old guy ordered after me.  He was probably in his 80s and walked around with one of those four-footed canes. I liked him right away, because he was on the ball.  Whenever I see older people like him at fast food places or take-outs, they often seem distressed trying to figure out the food and ordering, etc.  Not this guy, though, he was totally in command of his faculties and very fast-food savvy.  His order was ready before mine (as it took a while for the fingers to cook) and I saw he would have difficulty with carrying his tray, plus the package he had, plus the cane, so I offered to help him by taking his tray to a table.  He was thankful and I felt good.
When I got back to the counter, my food was ready.  I noticed that the fries were covering the fingers, and I assumed that they did that to hide the lame number of fingers they had given me.

Anyway, this may be the final entry in the saga of the chicken fingers.

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