I’m not a very big fan of Chick Fil A. Mostly, I like their breakfast. But I never really want Chick Fil A.
Except on Sunday. Of course. Cause it is closed.
The other day I was in a Chick Fil A. There was a spanish family there. Mexican. Guatemalan. Something. A mother. A father. Two children. They were leaving. The children were playing. I stood in line.
I was fourth in line. In front of me was an old white man. A real cracker looking guy. In front of him was a spanish looking man.
The old cracker guy says to the spanish guy in front of him, “Ya know, Ah saw some Mexicans in a pick up truck the other day. Outside a Chick Fil A.”
His drawl was Florida Cracker. Jeans. Plaid shirt. Could’ve been straight from central casting.
“They had a dog. You know, a dog.” Except he said dawg.
The spanish man he was talking to did not care. You could tell by how he hadn’t even turned around. Didn’t stop the old man from talking, though. Nothing seems to stop an old man from talking.
“And you know what?” the Old Cracker continued, “They were speaking Spanish to that dog! Have you ever heard of such a thing?”
This caught the man in front of him’s attention. Mine too. The old man kept talking.
“They would say ‘Come!’ except, you know, it was ‘Come!’ in spanish. Now every darned fool knows a dog don’t speak no spanish.”tags: