Y’all, there comes a moment when
you truly realize your purpose in life. The hour your super powers are made
known and your secret identity can remain secret no longer. The world will
know. That moment came for me yesterday at Chick-fil-e.
The double line at the drive thru
looked like a mass migration of soccer moms. We all idled sleepily yet
expectantly under the shade of the awning some comfort engineer had the good
sense to design and apparently no other fast food place can afford. All was
right with the world.
The “apostle,” that’s what I call
the folks that work at Chick-fil-e, stepped to my window and took my order
personally. That’s how important I am at Chick-fil-e, yeah verily how important
we all are! An actual human with a face attends to our deep fried needs.
Just
before the apostle asked if that completed my order and just after I said,
“oooh, y’all got cobb salad now?” there was a disturbance in the Force. A dark
creature from the bowels of some un-mowed section of the golf course lurched
forth and skittered beside my chick-apostle’s feet. He screamed, “what was
that!” flapping the holy and perfectly laminated menu in self defense.
Several other apostles came running
armed with Southern decency and sporks to take on the hell hound. They huddled closely to one another taking in the scene, hands over their
mouths and unpimpled chins. One slowly kneeled, looked under my vehicle and
said gravely, “y’all, that is a possum.” Upon standing, she straightened her
red shirt, composed herself then looked at me. “Ma’am, it’s under your tire.”
Chaos blew in on a hot, waffle fry
scented wind. The apostles all looked at one other, eyes wide, mouths
speechless. Never had they faced such a trial.
That’s when I knew. I felt my
purpose. “I got this, y’all. Stand back,” I said and emerged from my mom van. Softly
and deliberately I walked to the back of the vehicle armed only with a beach
towel and desire for a bowl of soup and three #1s with a lemonade – no ice. Would I like to make those #1s a large? Why, yes. Yes, I would.
I lowered myself to the clean
pavement. Sure enough, the creature crouched at the ready beside my back tire.
Our eyes met, each sizing up the other, taking in the scene and knowing that
after this moment, nothing would ever be the same.
“You gotta go, possum,” I said. “We
can do this the easy way or the hard way.” After a gentle nudge from my beach
towel, the critter relocated his troop to another tire. “Look, here,” I said,
“You got to ‘git’. This is my purpose in life, you can’t win this. Plus, look!”
I waved my hand at the fleet of SUVs at my back. “Look at all these women in
line freaking out. They’re all about to break their Botox! Half of them have
already lost a quarter of their eye lash weaves out of sheer panic. You have to
go. For real. I will tell all who ask that you fought bravely.”
The beast wiggled it leathery nose.
And, as quickly as it appeared, it was gone. I brushed off my knees, stood,
then, after a bow to the crowd, got back in my vehicle. With a nod to the
apostles I said, “that completes my order,” then eased up toward the window.
Folks, I am the “Possum-nator.”
