Pea toasted
When I was in my second year of university, I worked in a KFC to make some bucks. I only worked twice a week, and I also got to have as much food as I could eat on my break.

All the food I could eat turned out to be usually 3 to 4 family buckets of chicken that found its way to the industrial fridge so that I could take it home and share it with my housemates. It was a pretty sweet deal and I was relatively happy.

Then a new manager was appointed, and was not all that cool. He leched on the 16 year old girls, stole money, didn’t authorise overtime when it was done (“oh must be a payroll error!”), chronically understaffed the entire place to lower costs (“I am just sweating my resources here pal.” He cut my hours without asking me so he could give them to the under 18s, and introduced the rule where you had to pay for your food on your break.

I complained and he said that if I didn’t like it, then I had to lump it. The weasel. This is a man that brought his own bottle of coke to drink on his shifts as he couldn’t stand to drink the pepsi from the KFC taps. What type of monster does that?

Anyway, I am a pretty happy-go-lucky bloke so I gritted my teeth, took the money, and accepted these changes.

Then he gave me 2 weeks notice because I hadn’t fucking scrubbed the floor properly. I was glad at the time because then I couldn’t be bothered to work in his fowl regime.

So I planned my final night. I won’t document the sleepless revenge filled nights that led up to it, only what happened.

Picture the scene.

10pm on a Saturday night in Exeter, two hours after my last shift starts.

£9.95 spent on an ad in the local paper that promised a free meal to the first 200 people that came through the door after 10pm.

Me switching off all the deep fat fryers (that take an hour and a half to get to temperature).

‘Killing in the name’ by Rage against the machine (last 2 minutes of the song) repeated and burnt onto a custom CD playing on the branch stereo (glued shut) at 95% volume.

Me, and 4 other Colonel Sanders refugees, vaulting the counter, past the baying drunken chicken hounds brandishing copies of the local rag, with our middle fingers up.

Finally, dickless clown losing it as the place gets mobbed.

Then I went for a maccy ds.

EPILOGUE.

Its probably cooler in my own mind than what actually happened but what the hell.
(powervator and NONE SHALL PASS, Thu 18 Jun 2009, 23:09, 10 replies)

"fowl regime"?
..chuckle...
(greatoldone Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl f'tagn, Fri 19 Jun 2009, 7:06, closed)

^ this

( Larry Vest One day at a time, sweet Jesus, FFS., Fri 19 Jun 2009, 9:39, closed)

i applaued the size of your balls sir
Well done, I wish more people would do the same.
Me I settled for painting a cursing sigil on the underside of a piece of heavy machinery where it will never be found. On my last week in work.
(Gru being trolled since 1998, Fri 19 Jun 2009, 11:08, closed)

Bravo
For fowl regime and for the tale itself.
( Monty Boyce, My cheese game is strong, Fri 19 Jun 2009, 13:47, closed)

Ahhhh KFC
I remember working there for all of two weeks - the one in Sidwell Street. They gave me a name badge saying 'Maharajah' (i'm called Sarah) and didn't pay me for a week wot i done. I told them to cocknonce off and went to the pub (with very little money)
(chili_kitten Cheese, peas and honey bees, Fri 19 Jun 2009, 16:46, closed)

I too worked in the one on Sidwell Street
Perhaps we should compare some pieces of original recipe some time?

*winks*

*licks chicken grease from palm*

*winks again*
(powervator and NONE SHALL PASS, Fri 19 Jun 2009, 19:59, closed)

Would have clicked
if you hadn't have mentioned R.A.t.M.

I won't tidy my bedroom.
( stopmeandslapme Cometh the hour, cometh your mum, Fri 19 Jun 2009, 23:29, closed)

I saw this
in the paper from a couple years back.

I laughed then, too.
(Scritty Bakerman., Sun 21 Jun 2009, 8:31, closed)

"Then I went for a maccy ds"
Then you were sick, perchance?

*click*
( chart cat has an itch, Mon 22 Jun 2009, 6:38, closed)

I didn't work there
but I used to get corn cobs and a black cherry milkshake every night after I finished my shift at the GX Bowl down by the quay from said Unlucky Fried. I remember the staff being really nice people. About fifteen years ago this was. Feck me, I'm old !
I'm now off to tell young people, "... during the war..." ;-)
(womanwhocanonlylivewithdogs, Tue 23 Jun 2009, 19:48, closed)