I was in Staunton earlier in the week for a therapy appointment, and on my own for dinner, since the wife was having dinner with a friend.
The way my brain works: I love me some Bo’s, the nearest one is in Staunton, ergo …
I made a beeline for the Bojangle’s drive-thru after the session with the therapist.
Turns out, my anxiety is rooted in how my parents weren’t the type to say “I love you” or show affection or concern.
That can tend to make you think that no one loves you, and get overly protective of yourself, think everything is a threat.
I digress.
After discovering the source of my anxiety, it was Bo time.
The plan: get some tenders and a biscuit to bring home.
I don’t ask for much in life.
I get to the drive-thru speaker.
Drive-thru lady: “Can I take your order?”
Me: “I’d like a chicken tenders combo with …”
Drive-thru lady: “We’re out of tenders.”
Me: (silence).
I didn’t know what to say, and several days later, I’m still at a loss.
Bojangle’s ran out of chicken tenders.
This is like … the beach running out of sand?
And we’re not talking about late at night.
It was dinner time – 6 o’clock.
They shoulda just had tenders.
Me: “I’m going to need a second.”
I ended up ordering a chicken sandwich, which was OK – not as good as Popeye’s, but still, OK.
Still got a biscuit. They weren’t out of those.
My next therapy appointment is next week.
I mention that hoping the manager has a truck of tenders coming in between now and then.
Story by Chris Graham
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Chris Graham
