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So, after deciding a week or two ago that we were going to go back to trying to diet, the fiance and I found ourselves once again at the ancient and venerable colonel (KFC), perusing the board of deep fried delights.

Now, ordering through drive through is difficult enough, what with the speaker distorting everything you say, and automatically including a 10% randomised order error.

Now, the fiance has unreasonably high expectations of serving drones, mostly that they can do basic maths, and that they can take enough initiative to put in an extra wicked wing (or bunch of nuggets) into a box, and just stick a couple of bucks on top and give him his order of 4 wings, or 12 nuggets or whatever.

No. They’re programmed to only give out packs of 3, 10 or 15 wings, so the 4 that he keeps asking for freaks them out. At least they’re smart enough to realise that two packs of 3 is six, so they can cope with an order of 6. (McDonalds drive through staff just keep repeating ‘no sir, they only come in packs of 6 10 or 20’ when he asks for 12 nuggets, until he finally gives in and tells them two packs of six is ok).

So after giving the order, she begins the ‘drive through to the second window please’ bit, then remembers that they can’t do 4 wings, and goes back into the number of wings they can do… at which point she asks if that’s all we want. ‘Yes, just the stuff we ordered and the wings we just asked for’.

So, of course, due to random ordering fluctations, when we get to the window, we’re now getting 6 wicked wings instead of the pack of 3… and I’m sniggering, because the poor girl inside looks like she needs another 6 arms, and physical labour is just funny to watch. So she takes the fiances card, and processes the order… and puts the card down inside somewhere.

There’s salt being sprayed everywhere, and chicken bits and boxes and bags and all sorts of stuff flying around the place, and finally she brings all the bags to the window (even for 2 people, they still make you feel like greedy lardarses with all their boxes and bags and shit) and happily says ‘Thank you for visiting KFC!’.

The fiance has to actually ask her to give the card back, at which point we hear ‘OMG!# somehow that got cancelled, I have to do that again, can I have your card again sir?’…

By now the fiance is in one of those incomptency induced shock states, where he can only stare at her…

We pay and go, but that was 2.5 hours ago, and I’m still sniggering. It’s like dinner theatre, only far far far less classy.