Yet another harrowing experience while waiting for our chicken
(Contributed by Wobbie)Anyone who has logged in much of their life in a Harolds waiting for their Dark Half to be ready has had an encounter that made him wish he hadn't gone in. For me, that day was in 1992 right after the Rodney King riots in Los Angeles.
As any Hyde Parker knows, when you have tied a good one on and our beloved late Harolds on 53rd was closed, you had to go farther afield to get your poultry fix. On one particular evening, Agent Dwyer and I found ourselves walking into the store on 63rd and Stony Island at around 2:30 am. Neither of us should have been driving, but if we hadn't, who would have picked up our chicken?
As we waited for our orders to come up, there was a small crowd of peaceful, hungry citizens doing the same. One of them, however, decided he would take the opportunity to foment a small racial altercation while waiting out his 12 minutes. Fueled by the violence of both the Rodney King tapes and the rioters in Los Angeles, he made a direct connection between our skin color and that of the accused police. He ranted like a bum who had had his 40 ganked -- only drunker and madder. Tensions rose quickly. Dwyer and I both (in our own somewhat sedated state) were wondering if the fire was about to spread from California to the Midwest.
When it seemed as if this Harolds patron might just put his words in motion, a levelheaded bystander stepped in. He pointed out, firmly, that we were simply waiting for our chicken like everyone else in the bulletproof glass-encased area, and why doesn't he calm the *censored* down. We nodded out heartfelt appreciation for his action, and the rabble-rouser piped right down.
Moments later, our order was called. We spun the revolving chicken door, grabbed our halves and raced for the door like cows escaping the slaughter house.
Those rank as the tensest moments I have ever experienced in a Harolds. One moment we feared for our lives -- or at least our car parked out front. The next moment we were back in HP, pouring on that extra hot sauce, chomping on a Grizzle Dunk, making fry sandwiches and knowing that what we endured was a small price indeed for the chicken we were dogging.