Thursday, February 18, 2010

I Love Fried Chicken

I realized yesterday that I have an unhealthy obsession with fried chicken. I have loved fried chicken since I was a child, but as I become older, my passion has only increased. Often, when friends suggest places to eat, I am always the one to recommend a restaurant that serves fried chicken, Farmerbrown being my favorite. I understand that this is not a becoming trait of mine, so after one suggestion, I quiet and let my friends decide. At times though, they entertain my love of fried chicken and attend an all-you-can-eat brunch that serves, of course, fried chicken. I am not sure where this fixation has come from, but it is getting out of control.

Yesterday being the day of realization, I have an embarrassing story about fried chicken to confess. I attend school at San Francisco State University where I am studying journalism with a minor in sexuality studies. That aside, our campus serves fried chicken. In our school food court, there is a Chinese take-out that serves salted fried chicken, and I have become a daily regular.

Now, my only problem with this Chinese place on campus is that they only make a limited number of pieces. I would venture to say that most people are not in line at the Chinese take-out for the fried chicken, however, I am. So, with only 5 or 6 pieces being made, there are times that the chicken does run out. This is where my craziness comes into action. Frequently, I will buy 3 pieces in the morning and keep them in my backpack for lunch or afternoon snacks. Obviously, this makes my books, binders, and backpack smell like greasy, oily, salted fried chicken, but I do not care. Sometimes, I walk at a faster pace than normal to the food court, thinking that someone may be buying the last of the fried chicken. This has resulted in me bumping into people, mildly pushing them out of my way, and whispering profanities under my breath at the irritation of slower walkers. The worst though, is when I venture down the stairs into the food court. The stairwell that leads down to the food selections offers a glimpse of the Chinese take-out counter and allows me clear view of the fried chicken station; this is when all hell breaks loose. When I see those 2 pieces left of fried chicken, all I can think about is how they are mine! You would think I was completing a triathlon as I jump the last 5 stairs, run and dodge through people, and slip my way into line, clearly playing stupid as I cut ahead of people. Again though, I do not care.

Anyhow, yesterday being no different than other days, I went to get my fried chicken. After the ritual of speed walking, pushing, cursing, jumping, running, and finally cutting in line, I was able to deliciously enjoy two pieces of my beloved chicken. After my chicken, I washed my hands, checked my hair, and proceeded to my sex and law class. After my 1 ½ hour class, I found my self still hungry, and started to make my way back for the last piece of chicken that was residing in the enclosed take-out counter. The problem though, is while I began to prepare myself physically, emotionally, and mentally for my fried chicken obtainment ritual, my good friend Christine called.

Not having spoken to her in weeks, I felt compelled to answer the phone call, and put the fried chicken mission on hold. Now, I will never put fried chicken before my friends, but had I realized that while Christine and I were talking, the last chicken piece of the day was being purchased, I would have re-thought answering that call. So, while we were talking, I began to comprehend that this was going to be a longer phone call than I first anticipated, and the fear of loosing the last piece of chicken started to settle in. Therefore, I told her that I had to run an errand downstairs and not wanting to drop the call, would call her back in 2 minutes. As I made my way down those familiar stairs, my mouth starting to water, my eyes beginning to glisten, my heart starting to beat faster, I was horrified and sadly disappointed that that last piece of chicken was no longer there! As I stood there shocked and baffled, I regained my composure and asked if they had any more chicken in the back. With a reply of “no,” I depressingly walked away and made my way back upstairs.

As I began to mentally beat myself up for not buying the last piece of chicken earlier, I realized that I had to let it go, not blame myself, reassure myself that everything would be alright, and call Christine back.

After our conversation ended, I managed to make my way to my last class and sat there distracted by how bummed I felt because I did not get that last piece of chicken. This is where my unhealthy obsession comes in. Still thinking about how much I wanted more fried chicken, I decided to board my scooter in the harsh cold weather and make my way to the nearest location that sold fried chicken. Let me just say, thank god for Safeway. As I excitedly picked up an 8-piece fried chicken meal and a bottle of wine, I had a reassuring calmness that life indeed would be okay again.

Eating 4 of the 8 pieces when I got home, I began to ponder the damaging effect that fried chicken was starting to have on my well-being. I really do not think I should be saddened by the lack of chicken on campus, and I surly do not think it should affect my concentration in class! I am at a loss as what to do about this issue, but until I find an answer, I guess I just have to accept my genetic prone to chicken loving, and deal with it.

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