This post falls under the “This completely baffles me” category!
Every Tuesday across the road from us comes one of these vans selling roast chickens. The first time I went there, after complimenting me on my looks – which of course put him straight onto Sexy Hubby’s “Watch List” – the Chicken Man asked me whether I came from Italy. As it happens, my maternal Grandmother was Italian and I have inherited quite a few of her features, so I pleasantly replied that although I have Italian blood, Switzerland is my homeland. I then politely asked him to cut the chicken into four pieces for me and… you would not believe the fuss he made about it, what a shame it was, that he would only do it if I really wanted him to, etc. I assured him that yes, I really wanted him to and after a great deal of sighing, the deed was done.
The second time – two weeks later – he asked me whether I came from… Romania. I repeated to him that no, I came from Switzerland, and he then asked me if I lived alone here – second black mark in Sexy Hubby’s books – to which I replied that I was married with two children and yes, we did live together. The same palaver followed about the cutting of the bloody chicken, but in the end he finally relented.
The third time – two weeks later again – he asked me whether I came from… Turkey! By then I could not be bothered to explain the whole story again and I simply said “no”. Then – you have guessed – he started being difficult about the bird ending up in four pieces and this time, I have to say that I mildly lost my temper and told him that:
1. The chicken will have to be cut anyway, so why does the moment when this happens matter so much?
2. I am actually a vegetarian and buying this for my children, I have no problem with my family eating meat but there is a limit to what I can and will do, and cutting into something that still looks like the animal alive is one of them.
3. At the end of the day, I am the customer and would he mind just to do it and stop complaining about it every single time, that would be nice, thank you.
Do you know what? I am really starting to worry about the Chicken Man’s sanity and wonder whether or not I should ever go back there… Perhaps I should find another chicken selling van?