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The order of things is damaged
(true story)
About a hundred yards from home there was this Chinese food place that used to make an excellent, and I mean EXCELLENT, fried chicken that I was very partial to.
A couple of weeks ago they closed, to my dismay, and were replaced by another, rather similar (or so I thought) concern that I decided to pay a visit and evaluate, yesterday.
The place looked not too dissimilar to others of the kind although I noticed that the salad bar did not include hard boiled eggs. I made a mental note to suggest to them to offer some.
So here I am at the counter and I ask the girl if they have fried chicken. “Sure” she says with a big smile thinking no doubt on acquiring a new client “here, you see” and she shows me a printed menu.
So, rather encouraged and thinking that my gastronomic fate might be not at the risk level I had thought it might be and that, after all, there WAS some order in the world and that it was good, I got out my reading glasses and started checking the menu when, arriving to the chicken section a dark storm cloud started forming over my head, alarms rung on my brain like for a nuclear attack and drums played a lugubrious call to arms, my blood pressure shot up, my fists closed, I raised my eyes and fixed them on the unfortunate wretch standing in front of me. For some reason, perhaps due to something she might have read on my face, the smile had disappeared from hers and her eyes were wide open.
Now, I’m a usually calm person that’s able to flow with whatever life throws at me but there are certain moral limits I will not cross and the very fact of finding myself in the presence of certain levels of evil does cause me to loose some of my generally placid temper. “What’s this?” I asked her in a rather stern tone, pointing at the menu, and trying to keep my voice under enough control so that I would not cause her to run away screaming. “What, Sir?” she answered with a somewhat subdued tone and an expression of some alarm in her countenance. “This” I said pointing at a word that had been printed and just stood there with the impudence of evil that has no care for moral order, with the disregard for humanity that has caused across the centuries for people to take up arms and kill to restore what’s good, the word “vegetable” between “fried” and “chicken”.
“Ooooh . . .” she says, trying but not succeeding, to recover some of the cheerfulness of a moment ago “it’s soy!” and attempted a little smile that was promptly washed away by the supreme disdain she could not fail to read in me. “Soy?” I said and the word no doubt sounded like an eons old insult first dreamt by the most evil of beings to make Gods cringe; “Soy? . . . It says ‘chicken’”. My words were falling to the ground like pieces of steel. “Oh, yes, but it is made of soy . . . but it is just like chicken . . .” At this point she was, no doubt, considering if she should cry for help or something. “But it says chicken” I repeated like I could have uttered with the utmost despair “have you no decency?! Aren’t you human?! Didn’t you have a mother and a father?!” So, at the end of my rope I asked, very quietly, “you don’t sell fried chicken, do you?” And she goes “Oh no, Sir, you see, this is a vegetarian place”.
I count myself as a reasonable educated man. I’ve seen a lot. I’ve read of a lot more. But never, for the life of me, have I ever known of a vegetable that behaves like a bird or of a bird that lives by photosynthesis. If I want salad, I’ll ask for it. And I don’t expect a bird in it. If I want chicken, I don’t expect it to be green. I expect f#c&^g chicken!! Everybody knows what chicken is. There’s never been in the long history of the Universe a “vegetable chicken”. EVER. There’s no such thing. There ought to be a law. People should be protected.
With no more to say, with no way to make human contact, as if I had found an alien race that breathed methane and ate rocks, I left. A tear was running down my brain, remembering the now gone, fried chicken.
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