I have a penchant for fast food. I pretty much love most things that come out of a bain-marie. Crab sticks, hot chips and toasted sandwiches are my favourites.
And I have a confession to make. I really do like crumbed chicken, cheese sausages.
I don’t eat them often.
In fact the last time I had one was at the end of ’09, at Roebuck Plains Roadhouse.
My beloved just about had a coronary; it was a side of me that he had never seen. My deep dark secret. I justified my choice by claiming the worst hang over I’d EVER had (It was pretty nasty) and I have never again ordered one, such was the severity of the scolding.
Having just confessed all that, I’m a little bit miffed by my absolute horror at the number of people driving in and out of a certain fried chicken shop next door to my office. It starts at about ten o’clock in the morning and doesn’t let up ALL DAY. I’m not even sure if it’s open at ten- people could be queuing to get in?
I wish I could bottle the smell that wafts through the air conditioner in the morning, as the children who work there change the oil. I would distribute little vials all around Geraldton.
Guaranteed, no one would eat there again.
My horror is partly at the number of people eating there so early in the day, but, at the risk of sounding a little bit uppity, it’s partly at the sort of person eating there so early in the day. I’m sure you don’t need me to paint you a picture, but I have included one with this post just in case you’re not sure what I’m getting at.
Cashed up bogans are partial to sucking on a fried leg, however in the main, from my astute observation, it looks as though it’s the low income earners in town who eat there.
This miffs me too.
The only reason I can think of as to why they’d shop there rather than across the road at the very nice family run and significantly CHEAPER fish and chip shop, which also does fried chicken, is that next door you do not have to get out of your car.
I don’t for one second think that I’m living in a glass house, but HELLO lady in your hotted up 1992 Commodore with your “Fuck off we’re full” bumper sticker and noisy exhaust! You NEED to get out of your car.
But rather than encouraging Commodore lady out of her car to burn off even a couple of those chicken calories, this town is working hard to facilitate her.
Geraldton proudly boasts (and when I say boast I mean BOAST) the state’s first ever drive thru ATM? I thought it was a joke when someone first told me, and I thought, “Poor Geraldton, everyone giving it such a hard time!” But no my friends, it’s no joke, we are in fact too lazy to stand at an ATM and punch a few numbers in.
So as the forty-fifth commodore of the day pulls into the drive thru next door for lunch, via the ANZ ATM no doubt, I ponder my lunch options.
I really do fancy a toasted chicken, cheese and mayo sandwich from across the road.
But I have no cash and will have to walk about five hundred meters up the road to an ATM.
