Chicken Soup
A couple of weeks ago, I was at Tim Hortons for lunch. I ordered their chicken noodle soup. It was shocking! I got two pieces of chicken! I quickly devoured it before anyone found out and confiscated my soup.
I just imagined though -- at some other Tim Hortons, the manager was throwing a fit -- their piece of chicken was missing! Now their chicken noodle soup could no longer be safely called "chicken" noodle soup.
The consequences I further imagined, flowed right back to Tim Hortons HQ, where an investigative committee is formed to find the missing piece of chicken. Eventually, they would narrow it down to a mistake one of their new chefs made. The culmination of the investigation would be punishment for the guilty. I could see a small Indian man, probably a doctor or nuclear scientist who couldn't find a job he was qualified for in Canada, being dragged to the middle of a warehouse as other Tim Hortons employees looked on. He would be sobbing protests and excuses in his native tongue. His shirt would be ripped from his back. He would be hauled up by the chains secured to his hands. The crowd would part to let the Tim Hortons official flogger through -- a giant, with troll like resemblance. The flogger would raise his whip, and the guilty chef would scream, "Aieeeee!" before the whip even struck him.
I just imagined though -- at some other Tim Hortons, the manager was throwing a fit -- their piece of chicken was missing! Now their chicken noodle soup could no longer be safely called "chicken" noodle soup.
The consequences I further imagined, flowed right back to Tim Hortons HQ, where an investigative committee is formed to find the missing piece of chicken. Eventually, they would narrow it down to a mistake one of their new chefs made. The culmination of the investigation would be punishment for the guilty. I could see a small Indian man, probably a doctor or nuclear scientist who couldn't find a job he was qualified for in Canada, being dragged to the middle of a warehouse as other Tim Hortons employees looked on. He would be sobbing protests and excuses in his native tongue. His shirt would be ripped from his back. He would be hauled up by the chains secured to his hands. The crowd would part to let the Tim Hortons official flogger through -- a giant, with troll like resemblance. The flogger would raise his whip, and the guilty chef would scream, "Aieeeee!" before the whip even struck him.
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