It’s almost as though they were looking for me.
On Friday, Julie and I grabbed salads at a Chick-fil-A while on vacation in Virginia Beach, but I left the restaurant amusingly miffed at the absence of free mints, which I usually grab by the handful from the entryway, the condiment stand and anywhere else they’re sitting.
I even Tweeted about it:
Finding out there’s a
@ChickfilA without mints is like finding out there’s no Santa Claus. Tis the season for disappointment.
Less than 24 hours later, we were in another Chick-fil-A (don’t judge), this time in Salisbury, Md., on our way home. Finding no mints anywhere, including in the bathroom (seriously, they do that in some places), I expected to leave empty-handed.
But before we walked out, one of their helpful floaters — the smiling folks who refill your drinks and clear your tables — asked my wife and I if we’d like mints. And I grinned.
“How many?” she asked.
“All of them,” I replied, explaining my story. She smiled. And I said, more unselfishly, “three mints would be great.”
She emptied her pockets of mints and sent us on our way.
P.S. We actually made three visits to Chick-fil-A on what ended up being nine days away from home. On average, once every three days. That might be a record … for fewest average visits. We do love Chick-fil-A.