Berengaria's Best: The Ultimate Short Story Collection

Chicken Boy*

I was starting to think that being the center attention was a very uncomfortable place to be.

"Are your chickens free-range? Or have they been fed some kind of Frankenstein feed that's gonna give me cancer?" April said, eyeing me suspiciously.

How was I supposed to know? I was minimum-wage summer help standing on the sidewalk dressed in a fluffy bird costume, not a chicken farmer. 

"All Cluck-Cluck Burgers are made from 100% real chicken proudly raised in America," I answered. That's what it says on the signs and posters hanging in the restaurant, so I thought I was safe saying that. I just hoped she didn't recognize my voice.

"That is not what I asked you! I asked you if these chickens were free-range. You know what that means, huh, Mr. Cluck-Cluck? Free-range?" She planted her right fist on her hip, cocked her head like a cobra ready to strike and glared at me. Her hair was braided up into about a zillion little braids with golden threads woven in. She was really pretty.

Really mad, but really pretty.

"Of course I know what that means. Would you like a coupon for a dollar off your next purchase of any Cluck-Cluck Original Home-Style Burger or not, Ap...Lady?

It was a reasonably warm day, but inside that chicken suit it felt like I was sitting on a grill myself. And having April Williams giving me shit didn't help. I could feel my undershorts starting to get not only too hot, but a little too tight, too.

I flapped the page of glossy coupons I was still holding out to her in my orange-gloved hand. "May I recommend the. . ."

"What did you call me!?"

"What?"

"I said WHAT. DID. YOU. CALL. ME?"

"Uhhh...lady. May I recommend . . .

"My ass! You called me "Ape Lady". Where's your manager? I am not about to stand here and have racial slurs thrown at me by some jackass in a chicken suit! I will have you know that people of color are NOT MONKEYS."

"I didn't say that!...I just...I just...."

"WHERE IS YOUR...aw forget it!" she said, jacking her right hand up in the air so fast I thought she was going to punch my beak. I took a precautionary step backwards, but she stormed past me through the open doors of the restaurant, a wave of intoxicating perfume fluttering in her wake.

Great.

The girl I'd been trying to get to go out with me all last semester was going to get me fired from my easy chicken job on the grounds of racism. I didn't know which was worse, her finding out it was me under the synthetic feathers, or her thinking I'd called her an ape lady. 

I continued to hand out coupons to passers by, mentally running through who I'd heard was hiring summer help while college was closed. There were options, but a lot of them required getting up before the crack of dawn or lifting heavy boxes. I didn't want to do either.

"The chicken guy! The one outside with the coupons!" I heard April before I could see her. Mr. Carter, the chubby white manager, couldn't decide which way to look when he saw who she meant.

"Ummm...ma'am, there has probably been some mistake... "

"No mistake! I know what I heard!"

"But, Mr. Reed is also bla... a person of color."

"Oh, is he? Uh, huh. Is that how you cover for racists in this joint? Claim they're black, too? And what about the chickens, huh? Are they free-range or do you want to convince me that eyeless, legless chickens are real chickens?"

"I can assure you that Mr. Reed is just as ...ahh...colorful?...as any other person of color. And all our burgers are made from 100% American chickens raised in government certified . . .!"

"I don't care! All I want is an apology from your poultry-faced racist over there."

Poor Mr. Carter. I didn't particularly like him, but he tried to be as politically correct as he could. Failed. But tried.

I held up my hands, basket of coupons in one, Cluck-Cluck propaganda in the other. "OK, I apologize."

"What? I can't hear you. Take that stupid chicken head off."

"No."

"What was that?" April stared at me, narrowing her eyes into slits and screwing up her glossy pink lips. 

Damn, she was pretty.

"I said, NO. I am not taking the stupid chicken head off. I APOLOGIZE."  I hoped that'd be good enough.

April angrily crossed her arms and said, "That's not good enough."

It dawned on me right then that the only thing I had to lose was the chicken job. Literally. April had fairly ignored me all semester, making it clear I didn't have much of a chance of getting a date with her and probably never would. So what if she knew it was me? What could happen? 

"Fine. I'll take it off...if you have dinner with me."

"What?" both April and Mr. Carter screeched. Mr Carter perhaps a little louder.

"DINNER. WITH MR CHICKEN. SAY YES AND THE HEAD COMES OFF."

April was about to say something when Mr. Carter broke in. "Mr. Reed, I really don't think..." But April just waved her hand like she was shooing away a fly.

"OK, Cluck-Cluck," she said, placing a fist on her hip and jutting out her chin. "Dinner it is! If you really are black and not some faker chicken." 

I took the head off.

Did you know that Cluck-Cluck coupons are not combinable with an employee discount on a Deluxe Menu with extra fries for two?