By now, you’ve probably heard about the brouhaha over gay marriage swirling around fast-food giant Chik-fil-A.
To summarize, the company’s president made comments against gay marriage and homosexuality in general. His supporters staged eat-ins, while opponents held same-sex kiss-ins in front of Chik-fil-As across the nation.
Many gay people are now boycotting Chik-fil-A. This strategy makes obvious sense. Don’t hand over your hard-earned cash to anti-gay companies. Hit ’em where it hurts, which is in the wallet.
Personally, I find myself conflicted. As a lesbian, it goes without saying that I oppose anti-gay thoughts and deeds. (Even though I support everyone’s right to voice their beliefs and opinions.)
I’m an occasional patron of Chik-fil-A. My son loves the Number 1 combo (original chicken sandwich, waffle fries, lemonade).
He also likes the chicken minis for breakfast. No matter what Chik-fil-A’s mascot cows say, I think chicken for breakfast is weird. But then again, this is a kid who comes home from school and asks for “meat.” He’s not picky about type or preparation. Just dead, cooked animal, please.
Our local Chik-fil-A is very clean, and the service is great. The food is always fresh and hot and good. Plus, the drive-thru never screws up your order. What more can you ask for from a fast-food restaurant?
Here’s the kicker. Chik-fil-A employees always respond to a customer request or comment with the phrase “my pleasure.” I love this.
Can I have some extra catsup? My pleasure.
Thank you. My pleasure.
Can I get a chicken sandwich without pickles? My pleasure.
I wish all of my requests in life elicited such responses.
Son, can you take out the trash? My pleasure.
Can we have sex three times today? My pleasure.
Can you wear that leopard negligee to bed tonight? My pleasure.
That thing that you do with your tongue that drives me crazy … My pleasure.
Ok, so my requests mostly center around sex, but you get the idea.
The wife is anti-Chik-fil-A. She thinks a boycott of all things Chik-fil-A is in order.
After pondering the issue for awhile — to buy Chik-fil-A or not to buy Chik-fil-A — I’ve decided to continue buying from the all-things-chicken establishment.
It’s not that I can’t resist fried chicken sandwiches with pickles or banana pudding milkshakes. Or that having strangers insist that it’s their pleasure to serve me fulfills some kind of weird fantasy of mine.
It’s that I think I can effectuate the most change by patronizing our local Chik-fil-A. You see, when I’m out in public, people either think I’m a guy. Can I help you, sir? Or, they know that I’m a lesbian. I’m the kind of lesbian who can pull off the “Nobody Knows I’m a Lesbian” T-shirt with just the right touch of sarcasm and irony. I’m definitely not sending out any I’m-bringing-home-this-chicken-to-feed-my-husband vibes.
By buying chicken sandwiches and waffle fries, I want the employees at our local Chik-fil-A to see that this big, bad butch really isn’t all that scary. That I order fast food to feed my family. That I’m polite and approachable. That hey my kids are pushing each other while we’re waiting in line just like your kids did last week at the grocery store.
I like to think of myself as an undercover agent of sorts. Like a female James Bond. (Insert Pussy Galore joke here.) Or, the cerebral Sabrina Duncan from Charlie’s Angels. She was the smart one who wore sensible shoes.
My secret agent apparel includes jeans, cargo shorts, Melissa Etheridge concert tees and sports jerseys. My hair is always cropped short and some of my tattoos show. I guess I’m not actually undercover. It’s more like overt-cover. Whichever way you look at it, it screams lesbian.
I think a lot of people have a problem with homosexuality and gay marriage because they don’t know any gay people. They think that being gay has to do with nonconformity and being a freak in the sack. The truth of the matter is that we’re just like everyone else. Buying fast food when we don’t have the time to cook, arguing with our kids about homework, busting our butts to pay our bills and trying to find time to have sex at least once in awhile.
So, I’m going to keep buying Chik-fil-A and trying to change things from the inside. Operation Butch Buys Cluck Cluck, or something like that.
Oh, and I will be using the Chik-fil-A “my pleasure” line in bed. Just to piss off the president of Chik-fil-A.