Yikes! (inside the mind of Toby Eddings)

It hurts me to say something bad about Chick-fil-A, but I must. I’m just not a particular fan of the lineup from wherever you are for a store’s grand opening to get free food.

I’ve been at Chick-fil-A grand openings. They are fun (except when you’re trying to get to sleep in a hotel room across the parking lot from the nearly-all-night festivities, which I did when a new store in Durham opened).

I blogged about Chick-fil-A a couple of years ago because chain founder Truett Cathy is a hero of mine, both in his business practices and personal life. As the years go on, he might be my ONLY hero. It is truly (and sadly) hard to find someone you would like to emulate and not be embarassed. I got to spend about 30 minutes talking with him and felt honored.

Having said that …

It’s nice that a new Chick-fil-A standalone store is opening in Belmont Thursday morning. It might be the closest store to I-85 (the one in Gaffney is almost as close). Great location, right down from the only Wal-Mart in the area I will spend money at (a certificate on the wall says it was the Store of the Year in 2008. Good job, folks. And thanks.).

There is a tradition at new Chick-fil-A stores that has followed  to Belmont. The first 100 customers in line through the door at 6 a.m. get a free combo meal each week for a year. Now, watch the local morning “news” shows Thursday morning and you’re likely to see live shots from the parking lot or inside the doors. I can think of only one Charlotte morning show of the four this would be appropriate on. The others will attempt to make it “news.”

It’s 4:43 Wednesday afternoon and a story on the Gazette Web site reflected that at 1:14 p.m. (when the story was posted), the drawing for spots in line has already been held, nearly a day before the fact. Daniel Jackson’s story (welcome back to work, pop) reads that 74 have camped at Chick-il-A events before. There are people who travel the country and go to these grand openings. It’s college students, retirees, anyone at all (I met some of these people at the one I attended in Durham). Do these college students miss classes for free food? The story says some of the campers will donate their free food to youth groups or other charitable organizations. But is that fair to the locals, the residents of Belmont and Mount Holly? Not really. It’s the people of Gaston County who will be  going to this restaurant six days a week … not the people of Florida and other parts of the populace. 

I told someone the other day that I don’t mind spending a little more to eat at Chick-fil-A because I know the quality of the food, the quality of the employees (and it’s always MY pleasure to go there; I like hearing that phrase), and I know where the proceeds are going. My deep Baptist roots come out when I say that spending money at Chick-fil-A is like tithing, in a way. I hope that didn’t come out the wrong way because I mean it reverently. I also felt like I had been to church that morning at the Durham grand opening. Every business should be run like that.

I just wish locals would get first crack at those free meals. That’s all. Welcome to Belmont. And don’t fergit to eat mor chikin.

Hi. I’m Toby and I live in Gastonia. G-town is Georgetown, correct?

Yer durn tootin’ it is. There has been a recent rash of G-town sightings around here, and Gastonia is nowhere near Georgetown.

Say it … G-town. Do you know how Jerry Springerish that sounds? Need I break it down and explain it to you? Think of the color that rhymes with fed and the part of the body that rhymes with dreck. Dreck is an appropriate word in this case, you know. Bat guano even more so.

I love Gastonia. I’ve lived here almost 5.5 years now and intend to stay here a lot longer. Yep, we’ve got problems, but doesn’t everybody? (That Life in Gastonia Web site, by the way, is worth a few minutes of your time.) I wish our Gastonia police cars were more attractive. They can be very easily; paint and some letters would do the trick. I wish our merchants could utilize electronic marquees  (and I bet they wish they could, too). The Schiele Museum was allowed to put one up out front and the world hasn’t come to an end yet, has it, City Council? Electronic marquees can be found in Dallas and Shelby and there have been no problems reported there. I’d rather see an attractive electronic sign than one with plastic letters that require the merchant to play cryptic word games with the viewer. And … what possible problems could there be with a gas station showing its gas prices in electronic digits? Progress? Methinks there are people in our city unable to spell the word “progress” … wonder if anyone running for office could win on a platform of “regress”? I’m sure there are those who would vote for that just to remain ensconsed and buried in the 1950s. I get that feeling when I pass through parts of Franklin Boulevard, or Tattooland, known by some as downtown Gastonia.

I think I’d rather see an attractive tombstone sign at the entrance to a shopping center than one with 58 tenants’ names that are hard to read unless you’re stuck in traffic. Six or seven major ones, yes, but not the whole center. That sort of thing was done 30 years ago.

It’s not 30 years ago, city leaders. It’s 2009. Let’s do some simple things to make it look that way. I like that electronic billboard on I-85 just past the McAdenville exit. Attractive. It can be changed when needed. Gastonia could do with some of those.

And as for G-town? Why don’t you ask the folks in Georgetown … because that G-town nonsense is just … well, bat guano.

What is the difference between Bird Flu and Swine Flu?

For bird flu, you need tweetment and for swine flu, you need oinkment

I stole this from a friend who sent it to me, but it’s funny. Now that you’ve laughed, go get your vaccine.

How … does a fast-food restaurant run out of sweet iced tea at 8 p.m. on a Wednesday night? Hmmmmm … wouldn’t happen if the teqa was brewed.

This happened to me Wednesday night on my supper break. I won’t name the restaurant, but it sells burgers and has to do with royalty. That might narrow it down some.

This wasn’t the first time I have had issues with this particular store. I had stopped going to any of this chain’s locations at all, in fact, for much of the year. It was a trip to a location on the other side of town that soured me on this chain earlier in the year. The alleged great new tea was horrible and I figured I didn’t need to have (name censored)  in my rotation.

On Tuesday night, I went to this particular chain on my 30-minute supper break. I got a chicken sandwich and forgot how good that sandwich was at this chain. I remember when it came out back in 1979 (along with a steak sandwich, which I still miss). I eat them plain (who needs anything on chicken?) and had to wait for them, but it was worth the wait. They were hot and juicy, to steal someone else’s old slogan (their hamburgers haven’t been juicy in years). I also got onion rings and sweet tea. The rings were great (they are the only ones I eat anywhere) but I was hoping the tea would be better than it was the last time I ordered it months ago. Nope. It was Nestea. I would put money on it … I know what fast-food Nestea tastes like (I used to get it at a Central Park location. Ever eaten at Central Park? There used to be one in Conway, S.C. Good burgers and fries.).

Great meal … so I went back at supper Wednesday night to get the same order. Sandwiches, rings, tea. I kept asking the person on the orderboard if the tea was brewed. He kept telling me it was. I asked three times and he kept telling me it was.

Of note: I am a kidney dialysis patient. Protein is good for me (meat, chicken, etc.) NO French fries or baked potatoes or brown drinks (Coke, Pepsi), because of the phosperous contained. Also, water and BREWED tea. Big difference. Chick-fil-A, Bojangles, McDonalds and most other fast food restaurants have brewed tea. Nestea in bottles and in dispensers HAS phosperous and I’m not supposed to drink it.

End of note. So, my bill rings up at 7.74. I pulled forward, had to wait about three minutes for the truck in front of me, then pulled up. I paid, and about two minutes later, the window opened and I thought he was going to ask me to pull forward as I had Tuesday night while my food was prepared.

Instead, the kid who insisted that the tea was brewed informed me that the restaurant was out of sweet tea. At 7:59 at night. Stunning. And very weak and sad. I told whoever was nearby inside that I can’t drink green tea (it’s on the can’t-drink list), unsweetened tea, brown colas, anything without caffeine (I’m at work until 12:30 a.m.) … and I was exasperated by now. Someone inside asked if I wanted my money back and noting Chick-fil-A is next door, I answered in the affirmative.

I didn’t get 7.74 back. I got a couple of ones and a dime or so. I got stiffed … but I didn’t feel like going back for my money. Thirty minutes goes fast, especially when you have driven half the time to the place you want food from. A girl opened the window and gave me some money back and told me that the tea comes in a box (gee). Kidding, right? I knew the kid had been telling me a story because I know what fresh brewed tea tastes like. But I got stiffed, too.

This … is not customer service. Clark Howard would call it customer no-service. I have worked in customer-service intense organizations before, and something like this would be something close to grounds for dismissal or probation.

I expect better from this chain. I have been eating the chain’s food since the 1970s when a location opened in Columbia, S.C. It would have nice had someone asked if they could do anything … but I’ll be dagged if I ever go back to this particular store (like one person makes a difference). There are two outstanding chains on wither side of this particular location, one being the best of all. I sent a scathing e-mail to the chain’s Web site when I got back to work Wednesday night before I clocked back in, and I also sent the e-mail to Planet Feedback Thursday morning. I love that site. You should go there if you ever have a complaint with a business. It gets results. I have friends that have gotten food, hardware and other things after complaining. Companies read that site.

I’m tired of writing. I have a taste for a chicken sandwich.

I lived through Hurricane Hugo from a different point of view than many of you (”many of you” being a inaccurate, worthless throwaway phrase said too frequently on TV news). But this time, “many of you” is likely an accurate description. My point of view is of a Myrtle Beach resident who had to evacuate and honestly didn’t know if he would  have a dwelling for he and his family to return to.

I moved to Myrtle Beach in 1985 to work at The Sun News, which once was a great newspaper until all the good newspeople who were there when I was were forced to (and choose your phrase), move elsewhere, “quit” or “leave.” In 1989, we were a great newspaper with great people and a great editor, Gil Thelen. Hurricanes were a way of life in Myrtle Beach, and we had been brushed by a few my first few years there. Hugo was a different animal. We had followed its progress in the Atlantic and took special notice when it had its eye (literally speaking) on the south Atlantic coast.

I was one of the top weather freaks in the newsroom and anytime the weather got dicey, the TV over in the design/sports area stayed on The Weather Channel, which was a handy thing in those days because weather was actually shown. NO DOCUMENTARIES. Actual weather. We would be watching for those updated hurricane advisories every six hours and for the strike charts in particular.

Hugo kept up its progress  and we started making contingency plans to produce the  newspaper in Columbia at The State, then as now owned by the same company. The designers and an editor or two would be going to Columbia, the other folks fanning out in the county and beyond if they were going to evacuate. Florence would be a safe destination. Yep.

The hurricane kept the coast in its sights and the decision was made Wednesday morning that the team would go to Columbia Thursday because things were starting to look ominous. I started to get a little nervous. A lot of other people in the newsroom were getting very nervous.

The morning of Thursday, Sept. 21, dawned beautifully. How ironic. My family of four lived in an apartment at the time, and listening to all the descriptions of the damage that could occur with this storm, I was honestly worried that I might not have an apartment building to come home to. Suddenly, “things” weren’t that important. I had no idea how long it would take to get back home, so I filled my car and my trunk with lots of my clothes and my wife’s (at that time). I also made sure to get all the photo albums and a few other important type things. Just in case, you understand.

Thursday was our normal pay day, so I wandered by the office on my way out of town (the rest of my family left for Columbia earlier) to pick up my check. It could be cashed later. We were hearing horror stories in the newsroom that U.S. 501, at that time the only way across the Intracoastal Waterway, was jammed. Packed with cars. I had already choden to take a different route. I went down U.S. 17 to Georgetown, where I could get on U.S. 521 and go north. (I also knew I could go by Cruisers when I was down there and  get burgers and fried to eat on the way. Always thinking about food!)

I reached 521 and started heading inland, through Andrews and Salters to Manning, where I got on S.C. 261 and took a shortcut through Paxville and Pinewood and came in on U.S. 378 far west of Sumter just past Shaw Air Force Base. I had noticed the sky looking a hair unusual on 521, as I looked southeast and sawan odd cloud formation. Half of the sky was clear; the other half, omniously cloudy.

I got to Columbia and before I went to my in-laws’ house (where we would be staying), I went by Kroger to cash my paycheck (there was an in-store location of my bank there). We had already determined that we would meet at The State at 6 to check in and get comfortable with the surroundings and our workspace. We also saw some folks from The Post and Courier in Charleston, who were going to bunk over at The State.

Around 9 or 10, I headed back to the in-laws’ house, which wasn’t that far away. I started watching TV coverage of the storm in the kitchen on the portable TV, which limited me to over-the-air stations. I believe it was CBS that had live coverage of the coast, then NBC. Around 2 a.m., all of the TV options were gone and I headed to bed. No problems so far, althoufght I went to bed knowing that the hurricane had come ashore near Charleston. That’s all we knew at that time.

At 5:30 a.m. (and I knew this because I looked at the alarm clock), I was awakened by a freight train overhead. That would be Mr. Hugo F. Hurricane making its presence known in Columbia. It knocked out power … and scared me to death.

I woke up at 7:30 to no electricity and got dressed to go to work that way. I road I took to the newspaper thankfully wasn’t blocked by limbs or power lines. There was power at the newspaper office and we somehow managed to produce Saturday’s newspaper. But it was a smaller one in terms of pages. We had one sports page that I remember doing. Most of it was reports from our reporters.  The word from back at the beach was that it wasn’t as bad there as it was down the coast near Charleston … and inland, like in the Charlotte area.

We got the paper done around 7ish and I went looking for food, but that was tough. A lot of fast food places were closed because of a lack of power and I honestly can’t remember if I ever found anything. I don’t remember that I even had lunch that day. I got back to the in-laws and they were still without power … and air conditioning. That was a long Friday evening, kids. No radio, no TV, no moving air … whew.

I got out of there Saturday morning and started heading back to the beach. It was an interesting drive to see holes in forests where trees had formerly been. There was a long line of cars trying to get back to the beach and we were slowly allowed back in. My apartment was still stading … less a grand total of two shingles, which I was good with. The next three or so weeks were interesting. There were curfews and life was briefly changed. We could have done much worse at Myrtle Beach. We could haver been in Charlotte.

Other hurricanes while I was at the beach were more interesting … like the one that left enough water to flood the downstairs of our house. We had been talking about getting new carpet …

But meteorogically speaking, 1989 was a doozy at Myrtle Beach. We had Hugo in September and on the night of December 22, snow began falling. When it eneded on Christmas Eve morning, a foot and a half of snow had fallen at Myrtle Beach. Even ON the beach. What a fun day or two or three that was.

No one sang “I’m dreaming of a White Christmas” that year and remeined uninjured or upright.

The alarming torso of one Jay Leno glared at me from the magazine rack as I left my CVS drug store Sunday. Last week’s Time magazine cover taunted me with the words, “Jay Leno Is the Future of Television. Seriously.”

Help. Quick.

That’s not a nice phrase to utter in such a public forum as a magazine cover. Future of television? More like the end of television.

My words my be colored by the fact that I still think Jay Leno underhanded his way into the 11:35 slot on NBC  years ago, the job that the former holder of that time period, John. F. Carson Himself, wanted to go to that Letterman fellow. But this isn’t the time to rehash the battle over that time period.

The good news for me is that I won’t have to watch Leno. I’m at work, and our TVs are on a newscast at 10 p.m. The good news for you is that your TVs can be on newscasts at 10 as well. Or, better yet, great dramas.

I watch WCNC in horror during  its newscasts. EXCLUSIVELY, as WCNC has a penchant for saying.  There are some folks on those newscasts who still could  have a career if they would go to another station. Soon.

If you watched NewsChannel 36 last week, you would think that the debut of Jay Leno’s 10 p.m. weeknight program is a world event. It was certainly treated that way, to be sure. Like a pressing news story. That ain’t news. Leave that stuff to “Access Hollywood” at 4:05 a.m.

WCNC has run NBC promos that said the NBC Research Department (oh yeah?) found that “71 percent of you want more comedy.” (All you really need to do is watch NewsChannel 36 newscasts.) And Jay Leno is comedy? Not in my book. Steve Martin said 30 years ago that comedy is not pretty. Today, just witness Jay Leno.

Hey, you Crabby Appleton Republicans, get out there and protest something new. See what you can do about “The Jay Leno Show.”

You know, if you watch Jay Leno’s bits, none of them are particularly original. Or funny. NBC is sinking deeper and deeper into the muck. Its primetime shows aren’t very good. Late night is dying as Conan O’Brien has been beaten like a drum in the ratings for about two months by that Letterman fellow. Jimmy Fallon is pretty wretched (and his show is an unfunny joke, put next to TV’s Craig Ferguson at the same time on CBS).

The thing about WCNC is that when a station is in the dregs of the ratings, it does anything it can to get out. Instead, WCNC puts its best face on the situation. But if I were WCNC, I’d do what I could to get the Fox affiliation away from WCCB. As I write this, Fox is a much better network than NBC.

I’m ending this now … because I want to go into the other room and watch the series finale of “King of the Hill.”

On Fox.:)

I have a low opinion of texting because it’s turning kids into adults unable to spell when required. A perfect example of a sample result of that heinous practice is nailed to a telephone pole in front of the Bojangles’ right down the street from the newspaper (on New Hope Road at I-85).

The crudely lettered sign says: “CELL PHONE REPS/XTRA INCOME.”

Last time I checked. “xtra” is not a word. The correct word is “extra.” “Xtra” is the sort of spelling you would use if you text a lot (as in, coincidentally, on a cell phone. Imagine that.).

A cell phone is a device for talking by voice … at least, that’s what it’s designed to be and that’s what that Al Bell guy had in mind, lo those many years ago, ringy dingy. I don’t text because a) I’m not going to fatten the coffers of my cell provider and b) I don’t text.

This is not a treatise on texting while driving (you’re a nut if you do, and have a happy death). Nor is it an attack on talking on cell phones while driving. That can also lead to death, but that’s a subject for another time. I’m just talking about illiteracy today. I’m a little sensitive to this subject. My daughter is beginning her third year of teaching first graders and my niece is beginning her first year of teaching sixth graders. We have young people to educate and we wind up with high school athletes who are only in high school to play sports. Study? What’s that?

That’s a topic for another day.

In that all-important Charlotte rich-faluttin’ battle of the high noses between Dietz & Watson and Boar’s Head Provision Company, I’ll pass, thanks. I guess I just don’t have that need to impress others like about half of the people in Charlotte have, and others that reside outside Charlotte. You probably know a few.

(You can tell it’s an important matter when one of the principals has an ampersand as past of its name.)

The funny thing is that many people who eat previously-alive animals probably have zero idea who Dietz or Watson or Billy Bob Boar are. Oscar Meyer, yes. Dietz, no. Now, there was Dick Dietz, who came out of Greenville, S.C. (he played major league baseball 40 some odd years ago, and a few even ones, too), and Tom Watson, whose habit was just eating other golfers alive. Head cases? How about Murray Head, who had a hit record with “Superstar” (from the musical “Jesus Christ Superstar” in the spring of 1971 and “One Night in Bangkok” from the musical “Chess” in 1988)? No. Someone else? Oh. That’s very different. Never mind.

How many of you have ever gone to a deli case in a grocery store? When I was growing up, I guess I hung around one a lot, but 40 years ago, I didn’t know that. My grandfather ran a meat market in a little store in the middle of Broad Street in downtown Camden, S.C. (Scottie’s Discount Drugs on one side and something similar on the other). Many, many years ago, there were such stores in the middle of the main street in small towns. It had two cash registers, only one of which was in use most of the time. There were groceries everywhere except on the front right side. The meat market and the glass cases surrounded it at a 90-degree angle. I never wanted for boiled ham and bologna and cheese growing up. In those days, Oscar Meyer was one of the main brands that came in bulk hunks, the kind you now see in grocery store delis.

These days, I stay away from prepackaged meats in large part because of the sodium content and nitrites and all that scientific stuff. Deli meats are healthier. Dietz & Watson and Boar’s Head are both good. I’ve had them. But they’re expensive. I am a one-paycheck household. Just me. I’m not made of money. I don’t have currency to burn. Lots of us don’t. I don’t even have to spend my money on cigarettes and alcohol. Water and sweet tea are inexpensive, but I still have to watch my diet (because of my oustanding kidneys) and my money (the people to which I pay my bills could care less how I eat, just get me that check for electricity, payable to the City of Ga$tonia, Ltd.).

My turkey of choice is Carolina Selects oven roasted. It’s a production of Butterball. Surely you’ve heard of Butterball turkey before, haven’t you? (Did you know, by the way, that Butterball’s consumer affairs address is Box 1547, Kings Mountain 28086. Wish Butterball had an outlet store in KM.). I normally get my Carolina Selects at Food Lion’s deli for around $2.99 a pound. Sunday, I got it for $1.99 a pound. I got four pounds. Eight bucks for four pounds of sliced deli turkey. No offense, D&W and Boar’s, but beat that.

I don’t have a high brow stomach. Considering some of the places I eat and have eaten, it’s a verifiable claim. But unlike others I could probably name, I’m not particularly concerned who sees me eating in public because I don’t exactly show up and spend money where I don’t need to be. I’m just regular people (thank goodness) and the only person I need to impress is my heavenly father, who doesn’t love us depending on where we eat, but loves us unconditionally. End of short sermon.

This was a non-issue until a daily newspaper in Charlotte turned it into a cause celebre. Guess it’s a better story than actual news, right, folks? I’d rather read where I can get good barbecue.

Which, unless I missed it, is not produced by Dietz & Watson or Boar’s Head. Your serve, Oscar.

Upon further review in my bed … you know, there REALLY are more important things to get riled up about than this. There really are. You don’t need to be on my side, you don’t need to be live or local or late breaking, and you surely don’t need to be EXCLUSIVE!!!!! OK, I’m going back to bed.

I keep hearing a promo on Fox Sports Radio where one of the hosts mentions something about putting ketchup on hot dogs being unAmerican. Did I miss the memo on that? I grew up eating The Big Red K on my hot dogs.

If I was at a reunion or a picnic or something and hot dogs were available, I’d always grab the ketchup bottle and maybe get some mustard, too. Down at the little store down the street by the creek, I’d get a dog with chili, no condiment necessary. The chili was too good. I wasn’t into onions or relish on dogs. Woof.

These days, the only hot dogs I get are the ones at Cook Out. A grilled chili dog is $1.35 and it’s wonderful.

One thing I will never, EVER understand is slaw on a hot dog. Why?

Heck, why does slaw even exist at all?

I have never knowingly had slaw in my life.  For starters, I have no use for it. I don’t eat shreddded cabbage and carrots and mayonnaise. I don’t particularly like to eat runny food … especially when it can get in your goatee and mustache. I don’t really need that excess food supply.

I always thought there was only one kind of slaw — yucky — before I moved to Gastonia. I then discovered there was something called red slaw. I discovered it in the worst kind of way: I ate it. Also yucky.

Lindsay Planer, who was our music columnist when I started working at The Gazette in 2004, took me to the famous RO’s Barbecue for lunch one day and said he’d order for me. He must have ordered me a barbecue slaw sandwich; all I know is that my food kept sliding out of the bun and that I thought I had never tasted barbecue of that consistency before. Wasn’t barbecue. It had to be red slaw. Here. you can have mine. Always and forever. (Heatwave, 1977.) . Additionally, your food shouldn’t slide around like that.

There was a place over in Columbia when I was growing up called Sandy’s that made it’s reputation on its hot dogs. With slaw, apparently. I just don’t get it. Slaw on hot dogs. That would be messy to eat while you’re driving. That would be messy to eat anytime.

Heck, I’m not even suppose to eat hot dogs these days, so it should be a moot point. But slaw … on hot dogs … ekk. Ekk. Urk. And on behalf on Toby Eddings’ Stomach Inc., I gladly pass.