CSS pops onto my screen. I'm working in the back, alone, bagging some sandwiches and preparing for the dinner rush. CSS means a chicken salad sandwich, and my heart sinks a little. I haven't counted recently, but there are at least 50 different items on the Chick-Fil-A menu. Almost all of them are tasty, enjoyable pieces of nourishment that I would be proud to serve to anyone. The Chicken Salad Sandwich is not, however, and I am always secretly disappointed with those who order one.

I roll up onto my tiptoes and look out over the chutes. At register 6 stands the object of my disappointment, a middle-aged woman digging into her purse for exact change. "Of all the wonderful items on the menu..." I start to think, but I've been down that road before. The CSS is already ordered and paid for, and the seconds on the order screen are starting to tick by.

So I begin the sad journey to the refrigerator where the prepped chicken salad sandwiches reside. If it was up to me, they would stay there for all eternity, waiting for a CSS that would never come. Alas, it is not to be, and as I place the ground up remains of chicken that did not sell the day before smashed between two unappetizing pieces of thin wheat bread onto the toaster, I can only hope that after this failure of a sandwich, the woman of register 6 will have better sense when ordering her next Chick-Fil-A meal.