Showing posts with label Chick-fil-a. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Chick-fil-a. Show all posts

Thursday, January 30, 2014

Faith in Humanity...Restored


When I woke up this morning I glanced at my phone and saw that it was 1 degree outside. Frankly, I could go for a little global warming about now. Also, I would like to thank the good people of Atlanta, Georgia for making the winter driving skills of Short Pumpians look positively Olympian by comparison. Of course in their defense, Atlanta gets a snow storm once every ten years or so, we get snow 4 or 5 times a year, EVERY year and still manage to wrap our cars around telephone polls as if we are shocked, SHOCKED that the roads are slippery.

A little further south in Birmingham, Alabama comes a story that helps restore my confidence in the human race. A Chick-fil-A restaurant near highway 280 found itself snowed in and the nearby interstate filled with iced in travelers stuck in a parking lot for hours. The owner, Mark Meadows, sent his employees home early, but soon they all returned because the roads were impassable. It was then that Meadows realized that he had stumbled upon a potential gold mine, hundreds of stranded, hungry potential customers trapped on the interstate, the quintessential captive audience. He could walk out to that highway with hundreds of chicken sandwiches and waffle fries, charge triple the normal price and sell them all in less than thirty minutes. Some of those people had been trapped in their cars for seven hours! This would be like taking candy from a baby, it would make his month!

Only, that’s not how this story turned out. We’ve become accustomed to profiteers, opportunists who line their pockets by jacking up the price from everything from plywood to diapers during a hurricane, it happens so often we expect it. People who behave in this manner talk about supply and demand, covering their greed with talk of economic theory, as if academic discussions of the laws of scarcity can possibly salve their consciences. Not so with Mr. Mark Meadows of Birmingham, Alabama.

He instructed his employees to help him carry as many warm sandwiches as they could make through the snow and ice a mile walk to highway 280…and give them all away. Then he opened up his store for the entire night for anyone stranded who might need a warm place to sleep. The next morning everyone who took him up on his offer got a hot breakfast biscuit before they were sent on their way, all on the house.

Chick-fil-A is a money making machine of a franchise. Many of its most successful operators are among the evil 1%, no doubt. But, there is something else going on at many of their restaurants. Many of them have figured out the central truth that being in business isn’t always about money. Listen, we all want to make money. I take a back seat to no one when it comes to celebrating the notion of profit. But if the profit motive is the only thing a business has, an empty life will be the result.

I have friends who own a Chick-fil-A franchise. Mark and Becky Baldwin are the kind of people who would do the same thing as Mark Meadows did. In fact, they have done so before. They give away an awful lot of food, the cost of which comes off their bottom line. But it doesn’t take a government program to force their generosity, just the noble hearts of good men and women. If more of us out of simple gratefulness for our good fortune would develop a generous spirit, the world would be a far better place.  

Tuesday, April 23, 2013

The Difference Between Men and Women. # 116


It’s time for me to buy some clothes. For 95% of women reading this blog, that sentence probably sounds like a cause for wild celebration, for me, not so much. I like the clothes I have. I’ve become accustomed to them, I like the way they feel and fit, and I especially like the fact that I’ve already paid for them. But every couple of years, it begins to dawn on me that maybe that shirt I love so much with the frayed cuffs is starting to look a little ratty. Maybe those dress socks with the small holes on the heel need to be replaced. Maybe it’s time to make rags out of that really comfortable turtleneck that Pam despises.

So, I’ll head out to Men’s Warehouse or Khols or someplace like that and wander around the store for awhile feeling vain. Then I’ll see a couple of nice casual shirts, flip over the price tag and see $78.99 and remember how much I hate shopping for clothes. The tag will say, “Made in China, Thailand, Mexico, India”, anywhere but here. Then the nagging question will enter my mind, I wonder what 12 year old girl working 12 hours a day for 5 bucks a week sewed this baby together? But I will not be overcome with guilt or indecision because I am on a mission, a fashion renewal mission, and I will not be deterred.

When my wife goes clothes shopping, more often than not it ends in bouts of tears and self-loathing. She can’t find the right color. When she does, she can’t find a size that fits her. When she finally finds the right color and size, some piece of the thing won’t “lay right” and looks stupid. Twelve hours, eleven stores and four miles of walking later she comes home with one cami and an empty giant sized milk shake cup from Chick-fil-a. But what Pam hates even more than one of her clothes-shopping ordeals, is the results of one of mine.

Once I overcome the guilt of reaping the benefits of cheap Asian child labor, I get down to business. I find me the gayest looking sales guy at Men’s Warehouse and we become best buds. Before I know it he’s laid out a week’s worth of clothes on a display table. He explains how each of the shirts is perfect for my “skin tone”. He picks out perfect ties to match the dress shirts that he assures me are the very latest thing for the conservative businessman. I try everything on and everything fits because “Gustav” has measured my every body part with his handy tape measure. This procedure takes a bit too long and he seems to be having way too much fun, but he’s the pro, and it must be done. I look in the three way mirror, hoping nobody I know walks in and I must admit that Gustav is right. I really do look “fabulous”. Before I realize what’s happening, everything is piled up at the cash register. Gustav is thrilled, and I just spent $500. The entire experience takes 45 minutes.

I come home, show Pam all of the new threads and she says that I look great. Then she looks me straight in the eye and says, “I hate you.”