I loves me some Chick-Fil-A, and the one up on 82nd near Castleton Square is an exemplar of the breed. It's squeaky clean and staffed by insufferably polite and chirpy kids and the manager will come around asking if you want a drink refill and take your tray to the trash when you're done. I try and stop there every time I'm out at the hobby shop or the Mountain of Geese.
It's gotten harder to get in there for lunch ever since "wanna do lunch at Chick-Fil-A?" became a sort of shibboleth in the ongoing kulturkampf, because nowadays at noon the parking lot is brim lippin' full of minivans and SUVs, every man jack of them sporting an Indiana "In God We Trust" license plate and a fading Romney/Ryan sticker. I just want a taste of home, not a #3 meal with a side of dogwhistle.
Anyhow, the other day I was sitting there enjoying my Chick-Fil-A sammich, doused in Tabasco like God and Mr. Cathy intended, with a side of nuggets, and surfing the 'nets on my iPad. Lo and behold, a couple sits down at the table next to me, discussing household budgeting matters at a can't-help-but-overhear volume.
She was saying that she wanted to get an iPad because it would be good for reading books, and she was going to look into how much they cost. "Surely the money will be in the budget because we're giving up television..."
"We're giving up cable," he corrected.
"...and we'll just see if we can find one on sale!" she finished.
At which point something happened that I had not experienced in all my borned days. The couple held hands over the table to say grace over the meal, which is not an uncommon sight in a Chick-Fil-A, but she then proceeded to act like she'd never read Matthew 6:5. Either that, or she thought God was hard of hearing, because she began to address her deity as though she needed to make herself heard over the ambient crowd noise at a fast food joint.
It started off with the normal request for God to add whatever nutrients to the food that Chick-Fil-A forgot, and then went on with a litany of requests, suggestions, and complaints until the patrons of the restaurant all knew far more about her family's bunions, boils, battles, and budget woes than any of us wanted to, I'm sure.
I sure hope this isn't becoming a thing.