I decided recently, after about a years worth of lusting, that maybe I could be a stand-up comic. I saw a comedy central special, with Russell Brand, this March. He was my kind of weird, my kind of goofy, & my kind of funny, certainly. If you have yet to encounter him, do look him up. I promise, you'll either love him or hate him. After seeing him on TV, I thought to myself, hmm...If this putz can do it, why can't I? I started brainstorming immediately after the performance ended. Within the next few days I began writting. I'm going to share my first bit with you here. If you happen upon this, and choose to read, please share your thoughts. Even if is just to say, "this sucks", I want to know.
My first authentic, (food, clothing, and shelter providing), job was at a KFC in Del City, Oklahoma. I was trained for the typical peon jobs. As it turned out, I was either so extraordinarily good or so colossally bad, that I was quickly moved in to the delivery section. I took orders over the phone, and organized which order to send out with and which, and what driver would take them. Like any other customer service type job you get regulars. I’d like to begin with one such person, MR. SEVEN THIGHS. One evening he called to place his regular order. I answer the phone in my perky phone voice. A voice you'd liken to a phone sex operator trying to sell chicken to Purdue.
“Thank you for calling KFC, this is Sarah, how may I help you?” I paused briefly & continued.
“I’m very well, and yourself?” Again I pause, awaiting responce. It was Mr. Seven Thighs calling for his regular order.
“Good. Can I get your number real quick, so I can bring up your address...thanks. Now let me make sure I’ve got this right, you want an 8 piece original recipe chicken- 7 thighs & 1 leg?”
It's important at this point to note the destructive nature of this particular order. To procure 7 thighs, you must defile 4 chickens, leaving them in quite awkward state, to say the least. Not only does this cause disruption to the chickens, the cook is none too happy either. Besides his natural inclination to protect chickies, there is progection sheet he must obey. The cook has to have so much of each flavor chicken available at any given hour. The magical computer spits it out every day, the chicken frying bible of sorts, really.
“Ok. I’m going to put you on hold for a minute, so I can find out exactly when I will be able to get that to you, hot and fresh. Ok, just a moment.” I put him on hold. Mr. Seven Thighs has had his order wrecked so many times. I was always extra careful to get it right.
I turned away from the phone and headed towards the cook, Richard, who was putting chicken in to the marinater. It can be easy to upset a cook with an order that will snatch the thighs out from under his poultry. I approached with caution, in my most demure posture, hanging my head a bit, perhaps I'd bat an eyelash or two. I glided across the floor, as lady like as my clutzy nature would allow. I began my manic rant...
"I’m sorry Richard. Mr. Seven Thighs is on the phone and wants his regular order".
Richard raised his head from his work, smirked, shook his head and returned to his task at hand.
Richard look up from his marinater, with a quizical smile, and spoke, now with a keenly affeminet voice.
"Sure, no problem. Anything for you Sarah!" We had a goofy comraderry, bound by mutual admiration of our common insanity.
"Thanks Richard", said, in a voice to mimic his own flamming one. I turned to walk back to the phone, when I realized I had one more question.
I turned back toward him, and put on my telephone voice.
“When do you think you’ll have 7 hot fresh original recipe thighs and a leg up?”
"It’ll be up in ten minutes", he said with a little smile. (Still attending to his marination thirsty babies.
My speech return to its previous manic jubillation.
"Awesome! Chicken will be up in 10 minutes, driver will be back in 10 minutes. Mr. Seven Thighs will have his order in 15-20. Woo Hoo!"
I turn to get back to my phone, once again, with such joy at this lovely news, I was skipping. But, 1 ½ skips in I heard "Thighs" Richard had spoken.
Thighs? I thought...Jesus, what's wrong. I cringed and spun back towards him.
"What Richard?"
As I turned & spoke, I glimpsed something odd. There stood Richard, (his arms extended forward, palms facing skyward with a raw thigh resting on each of them. He looked as a man offering up his first born in sacrifice to God himself. When he saw that I was paying attention, he turned his head to see me squarely, and then he spoke again.
"Thighs... I love thighs", he said glowing. He now turned to face me, and continued.Whilst he began his following declaration he grasped the thighs, moving his hands deftly parallel to his ears and declared,
"Especially on my ears". Immediately follwing "ears" he closed his eyes and made a gross tongue display.
Being quite pleased with himself, he began laughing and doing a little jig (clearly pleased with his performance). Now I, having been the most naïve 19 year old on earth, did not get it. Despite that, I had a good, short, chuckle at his little dance. Also, I'd hate to offend this, now clearly unstable fellow. I spun on one food to return to the phone. No longer skipping, but still pleased. My foot raised into a step when he spoke again.
"Dick".
Good God, what is he talking about now? What the heck is wrong with him? He’s nuts. Remember not to be alone with this one. I put my foot down and turned back to face him.
"What?", I snapped.
He spoke again, now wearing a real shit eating grin.
"Fitzwell..."he said(standing as though he was 007)he inhaled deeply on an imagined cigarette, exhaling through his nostrils, as it should be done. Richard continued, "Dick Fitzwell, that’s my name."
He immediately spun into a roaring bout of laughter.
I may not have gotten the thighs & ears joke, but this I got. I laughed myself to the point of hyperventilation & beyond. My abdomen wrenched with pain. I struggled to get myself quieted and back to Mr. Seven Thighs, still on hold. I quelled my hysterics as best I could, to complete our conversation.
Apparently my ability to stifle myself was lacking. As soon as I said hello to Mr. Seven Thighs, laughter took over me once again. My laughter echoed on the phone line as I spoke.
"Hi again. You’ll have your order hot and fresh, at your door in 15 to 20 minutes sir. Thank you. Bye now" If Mr. Seven Thighs had any weaknesses in his self esteem when he rang me up, my hysterical closing to our conversation, surely made Swiss cheese of them!
I don’t know how long exactly it took for me to get the thighs and ears joke, but it was quite awhile. Come to think of it, I've never FULLY gotten IT!
