The chicken was fine, as far as I could tell.
Just as disappointing as any grocery store fried chicken has ever been.
I ate three pieces myself the night before.
But it wasn’t up to her standards.
She didn’t care that the rest of us ate it up.
She didn’t care that only 6 of the original 14 pieces were still intact.
She didn’t care if we said it was unnecessary to pluck the discarded bones from the trash can and return them to the box.
She didn’t even care that she didn’t pay for it.
She didn’t like this chicken.
If you could even call it chicken.
This was more of an insult. It was communism, terrorism and atheism all battered and fried up together.
“It’s so darn tough you can’t hardly chew it,” was the given reason. She’ll take any reason to leave the house, though. And today, this was good enough.
“I’m gonna return it.”
And so, it was settled. Right in the middle of a Bird Flu epidemic. Back to the store goes the perfectly fine chicken.
Fuck it.
Not every reason needs Reason.
“I’ll drive, Grandma!” I said and had my keys in my hand quicker than she could remember who I was.
She smiled when it clicked: Grandson? Field trip!
I wanted avocados anyways.
And off we drove to confront those fucking charlatans who peddle this slop.
If god won’t strike them down, Grandma will.
After 5 minutes of “They just don’t do things like they used to”
And, “It’s just so darn tough.”
And, “Nobody takes pride in blah blah blah”
And so on and on and on until even the Statue of Liberty was hanging her head in shame at what her country had become.
We pull up to the front parking spot, hang our blue placard, and stomp our way in to set things right with the world, determined, slowly, focused.
Showing no signs of the fear in our bellies, or the arthritis in our backs.
“Jesus Christ, two bucks an avocado,” I say.
Ignoring me, Grandma hooks my elbow and drags me off towards the deli counter and those goddam Hatfields hiding behind their glass fortress.
“I need to speak with your manager,” she hurls at the poor deli girl, young enough to be her great granddaughter.
“I’m sorry ma’am. What is it? Maybe I can help."
“This box of chicken is so darn tough you can’t hardly chew it,” Grandma says. Then passes Generation Z a greasy box of chewed up chicken parts.
“Did you buy these today?” She examines the mess, handling it like roadkill.
“No. My son bought it yesterday. And it’s like a car tire. I can’t hardly chew it.”
“Would you like a fresh batch?”
A fresh batch?
A fresh fucking batch?? Are you kidding me?
Grandma can’t help but laugh.
“No! I want my money back.”
Gen Z passes Grandma back her greasebox. “Ok, ma'am. Take this up to the cash register and they’ll issue a refund.”
Grandma huffed and we stormed off like Tyson and Cuss Demoto towards the ring.
Then we slow down, because we’re moving too fast for her.
The cashier tells her, “No problem. Do you have the receipt?”
“Receipt?”
Shit.
“Yes, ma’am. I do apologize for the low quality of our chicken. I’d be happy to issue a refund.”
Oh! An unexpected left hook of kindness. Grandma takes a blow.
“Well, thank you. I appreciate—“
“I just need to scan the receipt.”
Oof. Grandma doesn’t lose her footing though. She just rolls with the cross and counters back with a two-three-four combo.
First, her wrists get to shaking with the fake Parkinsons.
Then, she’s outta breath.
The cashier’s eyes widen as Grandma sighs heavy and leans against the check writing platform.
Then, it’s the quivering voice, “Well, my son bought the chicken yesterday and — this is my grandson here - who is very busy, and he was kind enough to drive me down here because I am very hungry - whew, I’m all flustered. Let’s see - I’m so - it's just that I haven’t eaten because it’s so darn tough—“
“It’s just that without a receipt, I can’t--“
“Get your manager.” Grandma bites down on her mouthguard and lands an uppercut.
The cashier picks up the handset, and crackles throughout the store, that a manager is needed.
“Ma’am. If you could just step—“
Grandma slams a clenched fist on the check platform, and plants her flag, colonizing this checkout stand.
“I’ll wait right here.”
The helpless cashier looks at me, desperate. Please help is flashing across her face. But I’m no Messiah. This is your mess. Y’all shoulda made your chicken right. I’m not gonna be the one to tell this 90 year old woman No.
But I can’t wait to see you folks try.
The manager smiles her way up to grandma like only a millennial with a brand new promotion can.
“Hi ma’am. How can I help?”
Grandma slides the greasy box of chicken remains across the scanner, making it ding, I assume, on purpose.
“This chicken here is so darn tough, you can’t hardly chew it.”
“She wants her money back,” the cashier says.
“I do apologize ma’am. Of course we’ll issue a refund. If I could scan your receipt—“
“It’s like I already told her—“
“She doesn’t have the receipt,” the cashier says.
“I see. I could offer you store credit.”
“No, I want my money back.”
“It’s just that without a receipt, I can’t—“
“What do you mean you can’t? Aren’t you the manager?”
“I do apologize, ma’am. It’s just store policy that—“
“Is it store policy to make chicken so darn tough you can’t hardly eat it?”
“I’m so sorry ma’am. Let me call my manager.”
“Your manager? How many managers work at this nuthouse?!” Grandma demands to know, as the manager picks up the handset to call her manager.
Details are fuzzy about who made the final call, but Grandma got her way.
She brought a greasy box of half-eaten chicken parts, that she didn’t buy, into a full-on grocery store with return policies plastered everywhere and walked out with $18 in cash, without a receipt. And they told her “Thank you” on the way out.
We hop in the car. Grandma reminds me to buckle up then says, “Did you see they wanted two bucks an avocado? Sheesh. It’s getting to where you can’t even afford to eat anymore.”
Then, she grabs two avocados from her purse and drops them in my lap.
And Lady Liberty raises her proud head once again.
I don’t know how much longer she’ll remember it for, but I’ll remember it forever.
Oh shit. Almost forgot.
Here’s the recipe:
Grandma’s Guacamole
2 ripe avocados
1 roma tomatoe, diced
8 leaves cilantro, chopped
1 serrano pepper, seeded, diced
1/4 onion, diced
1 garlic bulb (?), minced
Juice of 1 lime
Salt and pepper to taste
1. Mash it all up with a fork.
2. Enjoy
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