I Heart Chicken

Some of you may wonder how I garnered the nickname "Juicy" everyone calls me. Ok, not exactly everyone. Just one person, but its a nickname nonetheless and a strange one to boot.

For those east-coasters out there, there is a little darling fast food corporate chain called El Pollo Loco scattered across every major highway in California. I love El Pollo Loco. I call it the ethnic KFC because its menu consists of an array of pseudo-Mexican delights such as rice, pinto beans, and corn. Then don't get me started on the roasted chicken. Absolutely divine. Man, if I could roast a chicken in such a corporate fashion and learned how to employ the techniques of artificial flavorings like that, I'd keep a chicken coop in my backyard and order a lifetime supply of flavor injectors from Pfizer. For real.

So one faithful night, I was on the phone with friend that was hitting up the El Pollo Loco drive through. He goes "hold up, let me order." I'm like "okay..." And then I hear him give his order. "Yea, I'd like the 2 piece chicken meal with rice and beans. Oh yea, and I'd like the chicken JUICY JUICY JUICY JUICY JUICY... JUICY." He gets back on the phone. "What the hell was that?!," I ask.

He proceeds to explain to me that, and I can't make this shit up, he knew some Ethiopian guy that told him that he used to eat at El Pollo Loco on a daily basis and knew a little secret. Apparently there is a "JUICY" button on all El Pollo Loco cash registers and every time you say it during your order, the cashier presses the button and the cook adds an extra spoonful of juice on top of your chicken. Where this juice comes from, don't know. But it was juice nonetheless and it sounded delicious.

I got all hot and bothered about this new discovery. But I wasn't planning on going back to California any time soon. But I started having dreams about this juicy chicken, and my friends voice kept replaying in my head: "It is the JUICIEST chicken I've ever had in my life." That's it, I thought. I'm either buying a ticket to go visit the folks in LA or I'm straight up driving to the closest shithole city on the California border to get my dibs on it.

Thank god for modern technology because I soon discovered at El Pollo Loco's official website that there was a grand opening of a new one in Vancouver. (No not BC. Washington.) Eh, I thought. Driving to a shithole city across the Oregon border is a lot easier than driving to another shithole city on the California border, which would've required chains and a ski mask in the dead of winter. So I get all dressed in my Sunday's finest, actually crossed state lines with my sight glued towards the horizon, waiting for the El Pollo Loco sign to come up at the edge of my vision. And it did. I was nervous. I was excited. I was hungry.

I walk inside. Decided that I was going to go with the 3 piece chicken meal this time and I go up to the cashier. "Yea, I'd like the #3 with corn and salsa. Thanks. Oh..." I hesitate. It was the moment of truth. "And I want that JUICY JUICY JUICY JUICY JUICY JUICY JUICY..." I couldn't stop. It was like word diarrhea coming out of my mouth. And as I kept saying JUICY in succession, the cashier got a more and more horrified look on her face. I finally calmed my mouth to the point that only the corners of my lips were quivering.

"Uhm... I don't know what you're saying." The cashier said. I peer over the buttons on her cash register and was like "Well, I heard you have a 'juicy' button or something." "No. No I don't." I wanted to explain, but it was too late. The only words that I could say were "Sorry, I'm from California."

I am sure that the cashier was close to pushing the hidden panic button they keep at all the registers nowadays, but she took mercy on me and just gave me their regular chicken that day. So now if you're ever walking down the street with me and someone yells out "Yo! Juicy!," no it's not because of my ass or my thighs though I wish it was.