It has been about a week since the beginning of the Great Chicken Wars of 2019. All was quiet as Chick Fil A sat peacefully as sovereign ruler of the chicken lands when, without warning,  Popeye’s came over the mountains on the backs of battle elephants wielding golden brown fury in the form of both spicy and mild chicken sandwiches of their own creation throwing the world into a deep fried tailspin. 

Debates have raged over which is actually better, whose chicken is bigger, what bun is tastier. All of these arguments are fair game as they deal directly with the quality of the sandwich itself. Rage on if you like in regard to these matters but allow me to interject this thought as relating to the Great Chicken Wars of 2019…

Y’all bougie folk need to get the hell on with this customer service argument. Judge the chicken not on the attitude of the employee but on the content of its flavor profile. Or whatever it was that Brother Martin Luther King said. 

Now don’t get me wrong, we all like high quality customer service. We all like to be smiled at when we step to the register to place an order. We like eye contact and to be addressed in a pleasing tone by those behind the counter. But a smile ain’t ever changed the taste of food. 

I’m willing to bet some of y’all was in Popeye’s two weeks ago to get a 3 piece spicy with red beans and rice and a large Coke and the person at the register covered knees to nipples in flour, and only working the register because they were understaffed due to Sheena and ‘nem calling out to go to the Lil’ Baby concert at the arena, barely acknowledged you because he had his earphones in listening to Lil’ Baby because he couldn’t go to the show with Sheena and ‘nem. 

He bagged your food, handed it you, half heartedly said “A’ight then.”, and walked away. And you know what you did? Nothing. You went back to your car. And your 3 piece spicy was the very same delicious. But now all of a sudden the new chicken sandwich ain’t tasty because you didn’t get it from a smiling face along with a stirring rendition of “What A Friend We Have In Jesus”? 

Annnnnd, if you’re waiting on some semblance of similarity between the staff at Popeye’s and Chick Fil A you might as well be waiting on sanity out of Washington D.C.. It’s not coming. Popeye’s ain’t got no summer camp to send kids to learn about family, togetherness, and the very real possibility that Polynesian sauce might come directly from the sweat glands of Christ. Popeye’s trainees ain’t doing no ropes courses, trust falls, and singing chicken hymns (All Hail The Power of Chick Fil A Sauce) with their coworkers.

Chances are that non smiling Popeye’s worker got hired one day, trained for an hour and was head of all chicken operations the next day;  the manager called them “Lil’ Red” or “Hey You” for the first 6 weeks of employment because he didn’t bother to learn the name right away; and they haven’t rested because they’ve had to open the store in the morning after closing the store the evening prior three straight nights because of the aforementioned concert callouts. And even with all that everything was fine until the onset of the Great Chicken Wars of 2019. Now every Popeye’s has a line longer than the Scream Machine at Six Flags inside and a line of cars equal to a NASCAR race wrapped around their building outside SIMULTANEOUSLY and yo’ bougie tail out here expecting happiness.

Popeye’s ain’t ever been built for that. They ain’t got no extra staff to go outside wearing attractive yellow safety vests directing traffic while others wield little touchscreens to take your order in the drive thru line to expedite the process.  They just gotta deal with the onslaught, and cook that chicken. Your change might be right, it might not. Shut up and count it. If it’s wrong they will give you the rest of your change, likely covered in flour and spices, when they get a minute. In the meantime go over there, get your drink and wait. They ain’t got the bandwidth for all this extra y’all bringing to their doorstep while they prepare your delightfully crispy chicken sandwich

Okay okay, I guess what I’m saying is, judge the chicken on the chicken and don’t get so daggone haughty out here in these streets. Remember who you are, Little Simba. Half of y’all out here talking that “I need them to say ‘My pleasure!’ when I get my food” mess out here getting smooth cussed out in Mandarin by your nail techs every two weeks and buying buffalo wings and lotto scratch offs from behind bulletproof glass. Settle down, don’t get beside yourself and keep the main thing the main thing when choosing sides in the Great Chicken Wars of 2019.

P.S. And which is better? I’on know. Whichever one is closest on Monday through Saturday and Popeye’s all day on Sunday. Just my opinion.

~thanks for reading

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