Waiting For Spicy Chicken

I went into to work at four.

As I was to my counts, I took notice to the fact that we only had one bag of spicy chicken left in the entire store.

I asked the opening manager about this.

She said it was ok, another manager had gone to cover a shift at the Monticello Taco Bell, a town about 20 miles away.

I was informed that when she got off work over there at five, she would bring some spicy chicken with her, because the Monticello store had plenty to spare.

I said fine.



Six o'clock came. Still no spicy chicken. I called over to Monticello and asked if the manager had left yet.

They said yes, she left at four.

Well, I wasn't lucky enough to have this particular manager die in horrible mess of fire and twisted metal, burning her disgusting flesh to the seat as she cried out for help, so I knew she was taking her sweet ass time to deliver the spicy chicken.

So I waited.

Finally, at 8 o'clock, she arrives with the spicy chicken.

I ask her, "Where in the hell have you been?"

She says, "I had to go to a funeral."

I say, "I think our being out of spicy chicken was far more important than a stupid funeral. It's not like they were going to know you weren't there any way."

She then starts crying, throws the spicy chicken at me, and yells, "It was a funeral for a baby!"

Then she runs out the door.



Forty minutes later, I ate a spicy chicken soft taco.

And it was good.