Chicken Tenders and French Fries, Please?

“Let me get the chicken tenders and fries with honey mustard, please.”

That’s my usual order when I go to any restaurant I’m unfamiliar with. After all, you can’t go wrong with chicken tenders and french fries. Truthfully, it is my favorite go to meal.

Whether it’s Zaxby’s, Otto’s,  O’Charley’s, Raising Cane’s or even Pappadeaux and The Cheesecake Factory, if chicken tenders are on the menu, more than likely I’m ordering them as an entrée. My theory: if a restaurant can fuck up chicken tenders, they can fuck up anything else on the menu.

I know what you’re thinking: this grown ass man wrote a whole damn blogpost on his love of chicken tenders. How basic is this muthafucka?

Beyonce’ gave ya’ll  Lemonade. Some people have even experienced Kelis’ Jerk Ribs and if you’re old school, knows her Milkshake brings all the boys to the yard.  We’re even begging for another piece of Chewing Gum. So why can’t I share my chicken tenders and french fries? This meal has saved me from several first date disasters, especially in the story I’m about to share.

The year: 2004. The place: Birmingham, Alabama. I was relaxing and unwinding after a long and exhausting day at school when  I decided to powered up my blue HP desktop computer. I logged on to one of the popular chatting websites of the day: Men4Now, Adam4Adam, or the infamous AOL, Yahoo, or GO! chat rooms. Ciara’s Goodies CD was penetrating through the computer speakers, I logged in with the determination of giving my goodies to someone’s  son. My goodies, my goodies, my goodies, take  my goodies!!!!!

Within minutes, I received a private message from a potential playmate. “Wassup, sexy. How are you doing today? I wanna know can I come kick it with you?”

Keep in mind you, I was just 23 years old.  Just young, not so dumb, but definitely full of cum. I typed: “You can come kick it with me as soon as I see a pic.”

We exchanged photos via email(Remember kids this was before smartphones, Instagram, and unlimited text messages). Wearing a black 2Xist/50 Cent wifebeater with matching black boxer briefs, stood a gorgeous dark khaki-colored slightly older man with a nice medium build. He reminded of a lighter version of Malcolm Jamal Warner.

We exchanged several messages including our names. His was Mr. Despicable(not is real name). I told him my name was DeVonte(definitely not my real name). Mr. Despicable replied with another message,  “If you ain’t doing shit at the moment, come join me at O’Charley’s for dinner and drinks.  My treat.”

“I’m down,” I said.  After all, I was a struggling college student and I wasn’t about to turn down a free meal neither.

I met Mr. Despicable at the O’Charley’s near my college campus. Not only was I relieved that he looked like his pictures but also he was even sexier in person. Once we were seated, I was instructed to order anything I wanted because I quote, “He got this.”  I ordered fried chicken tenders, french fries, and water to drink. He order appetizers, cocktails, entrees, etc. I’m thinking to myself, “This nigga got money and he’s sexy too. He can definitely get the booty tonight.”

However, my attraction for Mr. Despicable slowly began to run its course. The deep voice he had earlier slowly became more feminine. Purses were literally fall out of his mouth.  The whole conversation was about his designer clothes, cars, and “how he is better than all these other fags out here.”  Meanwhile, I just concentrated on eating my chicken tenders being that will be the only bird that will be in my mouth that night.

As we were finishing our entrees,  the server place the check on the table.  He looked at the check and then says, “As soon as I done eating dessert, we’re dashing out of here.”

“Wait one goddamn minute!” I yelled, “This is what you meant by “I got this”? You’re planning to ditch on this check?”

Boldly, Mr. Despicable said, “Hell fuck yeah. And yo ass better be ready to run up out this bitch too.”

As he was eating his dessert, I excused myself to go to the bathroom. As I walking to the bathroom, I called over our server. “Hey you know the dude that I’m here with? He’s planning on not pay his tab. Here’s my portion of the check and I’m leaving.”

I gave the server $20, left the restaurant, and immediately blocked Mr. Despicable from ever messaging me again. After that incident, I made several rules of what to do the on the first date.

#1. Always bring cash.  Just in case a muthafucka attempts to pull “dine and dash.” Pay your portion of the check when you go the bathroom and leave that nigga at the table. Always carry at least $25 in small bills.

#2. Never order anything you can’t afford.  DO NOT ORDER SURF AND TURF IF YOU DON’T HAVE SURF AND TURF MONEY AT THE MOMENT!!!!! Order what you can afford to eat even if someone else actually paying for the tab.

#3. Stick to appetizers as your entrée. Appetizers are the quickest to come from the kitchen at any restaurant.  Your stomach doesn’t have to suffer because your date is irking your last goddamn nerve in your body. Consider this a quick bite and you can bounce.

As I previously stated,  if a restaurant can’t cook chicken tenders, then the shouldn’t cook a damn thing. Chicken tenders have saved me from going to jail or just cutting a date short when chemistry is nonexistent. Sometimes basic and simple is the best way to go.

You have a first date disaster story? Please comment  below.