Let me relate this story chronologically without framing it, since I'm sure anyone who has seen my recent Twitter posts knows where this is going.
Yesterday at about 1 pm I was getting ready to drive from my apartment in Gainesville to Palm Harbor to spend the week with my family between Summer semesters. The drive usually takes between two and two and a half hours, I hadn't eaten since waking up about three hours earlier, and so I decided to get something to eat because I was starving. So first I drove to Chick-fil-A.
Chick-fil-A is a wonderful fast food chain. The food is great. The service is great. And it's a bit healthier than many other fast food places. Unfortunately it was stuffed to the brim when I got there and I realized I'd probably end up waiting like half an hour to be served. I had somewhere to get to, waiting inside meant risking being trampled to death if some asshole shouted "FIRE", and waiting outside meant dying of heatstroke in the mid-day Summer heat of Florida. In my black car. So I decided "Even Chick-fil-A isn't worth this," and went somewhere else.
There is a KFC a mere twenty seconds down the road from the Chick-fil-A. "KFC is like Chick-fil-A, right?" I reasoned. And hey, there was only one car in the driveway. I should have realized this was a warning, but instead I placed my order, got my meal, and drove away, a little annoyed that I wouldn't be able to eat lunch while driving and thus have to leave a bit later than I'd planned. But hey, it would still delay me less than the Chick-fil-A wait would have.
And then I ate the food. The nasty, disgusting food. The food was just plain awful. In every possible way that food can be awful. It didn't taste good. The soda didn't wash it all down and there were bits stuck to my dried-up tongue and teeth. Worst of all, as soon as I had eaten, I started to feel ill. My stomach instantly knew this food was bad for me. For about an hour and a half, including a good portion of my drive down, the chicken strips and potato slices refused to settle in my stomach. I would regularly burp up the awful stench of D-grade fried chicken. "Why the hell did you feed me that!?" my stomach cried, "I'd rather gradually dissolve myself from the inside out than have to digest this shit!" To make me feel even worse, my roommate reported that he'd gone to the same KFC just a day earlier, and that it had made him sick.
Eight hours later, I felt like killing myself for about three minutes, like cutting open my belly and pulling out my entire digestive system five more minutes after that, and figuratively and literally drained for the seven after that. My immune system had determined what my stomach and I had come to an agreement on so much earlier: the food was god awful. And every other content of my stomach was the collateral damage suffered. I couldn't even eat a slice of bread two hours later, my body was in full lock-down mode. Even today, my stomach has gotten a little uneasy in the middle of meals despite the aviary plague having long since been put to an end. I feel fine now, thank every holy being ever.
So to all who may read this, I offer the following warning: if you are ever in Gainesville, do not approach the Kentucky Fried Chicken on Archer Road. Don't. Do. It. I'm going to avoid KFCs in general for the time being, but that place is a failed health inspection waiting to happen. If you really want chicken, there's a dozen places within a mile to serve that need.
Next time, I'll have the good sense to realize Chick-fil-A is ALWAYS worth it.