Popeyes
One evening, I was waiting in line at a Popeyes Louisiana Kitchen restaurant in New Orleans. I know, sacrilege. But I was tired. It was late. And I just wanted to take out something to eat in my hotel room while preparing for the next day when I would be speaking at a tax conference.
Suddenly, a hefty employee lifted herself over the counter and ran past the customers screaming, “Rats! Dear God, I seen a rat!”
Customers scattered from their lines. Employees dashed about frantically. Finally, a manager told us that he killed the rat.
“Crushed that sucker with a mop!”
On my way out, I noticed that most of the patrons had quietly reformed their lines. I thought about these docile people who accepted their circumstances. Popeyes, like other fast-food places, serves carefully measured and heavily salted fried and grilled food with lots of paper and plastic. How had it happened that we consumers have so little regard for our bodies and dignity that even the presence of rodents in the kitchen won’t deter us? When did we become people who don’t value ourselves? If we don’t care about ourselves, how are we going to care about others?
Before leaving, I thought about advising the compliant lineup of folks to forego the food produced in an unsanitary kitchen. However, they looked worn out, beaten down. I doubt if anything I said would animate their unfocused stares. They just wanted their pieces of spicy chicken and greasy fries with a tiny cup of coleslaw and a super-sized coke. I felt sorry for these zombies conditioned to accept their circumstances.
From that evening on, I refused to become acculturated to being exploited by fast food joints. I refused to frequent places that took advantage of underpaid workers and served grub infested with rat droppings. Fortunately, there was an all-night Korean grocery store where I was happy to overpay for a couple of bananas and some yogurts kept in a clean store.
