Home > Fat People, Idiots, Stories > KFC story

KFC story

BH sent me this video a few hours ago and it instantly reminded me of a moving experience that I’m going to share with you. This wil be the first big story on CAFP, so grab your popcorn and soda (Just kidding, fatty) and read.

I work at KFC, so I see hambeasts all the time. Most of them are pretty well-behaved – I mean you don’t fuck with your drug dealer, do you? And that’s what we are to these hordes of greasy stinking fat-asses.

Anyway, it’s time to close. I start rolling the shutters – mall store – get about half way and this monstrosity lumbers up to the counter.

She shouts “Hey! Boy! Hey!” I stop closing the gate to tell her we’re closed and can’t sell anything to her.
She says “No,” in a really flat voice, “no. Not closed.”
I pause for a second, say “Well it’s five minutes past the time we usually close at, so I guess, yes, we are closed. Sorry.”

Then she said no again, and tried to slap the counter. This is the sad bit. She couldn’t reach the counter. Her arm was shorter than her gigantic larddumpster belly.

She was squished up against the counter, I could see her rolls pouring onto the table, greasing it up with her filthy slimy sweat. I’d have to clean that off. She finds she can’t reach the counter, flails her arm ineffectually, then says no again. I tell her our closing time isn’t negotiable and start pulling on the shutters again.

This is where shit got surreal. With what must have been a massive effort (driven by her fear she wasn’t going to be fed, no doubt) she hauled herself onto the counter. She managed to get one hand on the inside edge of the counter, with her feet sticking up in the air. God forbid you were sitting in the food court, this heaving bulk of blubber, this whale of a human being, had the forethought to wear a DRESS. Then again they don’t make pants in her size, I’ll bet.

With her other greasy hand she grasps my arm. Sounding like she’s dying of thirst, she rasps “Give me my FUCKING chicken, boy!”

At this point I am in shock. A walrus has just attacked me. I’m being held hostage by a warthog. Assaulted by a huge fucking cow.

“What… what do you want?” This isn’t even the standard KFC response; I just want to know what I have to give her tomorrow so I won’t be a headline tomorrow: KFC Employee Crushed to Death by Wild Hambeast. Still gripping my arm with her pudgy hand, she wheezes: “I want ten drumsticks.”

Now, I don’t know how many of you know how cooking chicken works; the raw chicken comes in bags. Each bag has 2 head, or two chicken’s worth of pieces. One chicken has nine pieces: two drumsticks, two wings, two thighs, two ribs, and a breast piece.

A little math will tell you we’d need to cook 5 head to satisfy this beast’s desire, which means three bags, so actually 6 head. It takes about four minutes breading 6 head at top speed, and then 16 minutes of frying to cook it. So, roughly 20 minutes. And our cook still had to clean the floors, the polishing pump, the racking off table, change the flour, everything. Not to mention, we’ll waste 44 pieces of chicken. That’s a fucking massive amount of waste for a store that will only sell maybe 260 pieces in a whole day. It’s not as bad as all that; we have blue-bags which are 8 thigh 8 drumstick, but that’s still 24 wasted pieces and cooking well past close.

It’s 15 minutes past close, a gigantic fat woman has launched herself over the counter and is holding my stomach contents hostage, it will take another 20 minutes at least to satisfy her, and I’ve had it.

So I went and told my manager I’d been attacked by a whale. He came out. took one blank look at the situation, and said, quietly, “What the fuck.” She shouted to him – still spread out over the counter, fat pooling around her head – “You have to cook me my chicken. I’ll wait.” She looked like she was ready to wait on top of the counter for it, too. He called mall security and we just stood there, looking at her. She stayed quiet, giving us the patented Hambeast Glare of Death, until two security guys hauled her off. My manager went with them, to file a complaint with the center, to get her banned for life.

He came back with a bottle of Jack Daniels, called his Area Manager, resigned on the spot, and sat down in his office. He and I and the cook drank out of paper soft-drink cups. He left us clocked on for two weeks straight. He left us clocked on for two weeks straight, until the very moment he was no longer required to work out his contract with KFC. His last act as a manager was to sign off on 320-something hours of overtime for me, and similar for the cook. I don’t think he said a single word in those two weeks, just silently plowed through everything that needed doing and gave anyone who tried to talk to him a blank stare.

The paycheck from those 2 weeks is one of my most treasured possessions. It says:

MONDAY – S Hours: 42.99 Scale: 1.00 Rate: 15.40 Value: 662.05
MONDAY – S Hours: 293.01 Scale: 1.50 Rate: 23.10 Value: 6778.53

  1. Bernard
    29 June 2011 at 6:52 pm

    “His last act as a manager was to sign off on 320-something hours of overtime for me, and similar for the cook. I don’t think he said a single word in those two weeks, just silently plowed through everything that needed doing and gave anyone who tried to talk to him a blank stare.”

    That’s a real man.

  2. Anonymous
    5 September 2012 at 7:53 am

    Wow. You work at KFC. What a way to hook the ladies…And you’re a hypocrite too. The food is so bad for you you’ll take the company pay instead of getting off your own flabby backside and being more creative in creating your own employment in line with your principles.

    And as for the pizza, a really healthy type wouldn’t touch it with a barge pole. Not at all. Nada. Never. You’re too much of a follower to tell your pals you want to eat somewhere else. You’ve got the self control of a untrained dog. You just had to make fun of the girl to mask your own shame at eating pizza too. Its junk food. You eat it. You’re on your way to becoming fat as well. Sweet poetry. All the Olympic athletes look at guys like you and see flabby indiscipline. How ironic.

  3. spondulix
    6 July 2014 at 1:14 am

    Several issues here:

    * Nutrition facts

    The lipid hypothesis has been refuted.
    It is NOT fat that makes you fat – it is carbohydrates.
    by tht standard, KFC fried chicken is one of the best things to eat.

    * Bad manners

    The customer in question has bad manners.
    Being so large as to be physically repellent is bad manners, but this is some time redeemed by people’s courtesy, cheerfulness, and patience.
    This cutomer was not redeemable, for food stamps or any thing else

    * Lardia, Lardians, and double bellied Hambeasts

    This creates need to be returned to the national park set up for their own protection.

  4. drinkbleach
    30 December 2016 at 3:18 pm

    Maybe try acting this way at a salad bar instead.

  1. No trackbacks yet.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: