You 'Gonna Cook That?

It all began innocently enough. I stepped off of the Chicago EL train and walked down the chilly block, my breath exploding in front of my face from chilled winter air. I was on my way, taking my time, visiting a friend on her lunch break. We'll call her Tanya, and attempt to keep the innocent, well… innocent. Tanya had just begun her new job, a shift manager's position at Popeye's Chicken. Now, normally, I wasn't a huge fast food chicken fan (I lean to the semi-safer burger and fries crowd), but wanted to be supportive and see how Tanya's first day was going.

Two blocks later and I had finally arrived at the Popeye's Chicken in beautiful downtown Chicago. The windows of this particular establishment were clouded over, indicating the restaurant was full of hungry patrons. I reached for the door when, suddenly, I heard my name being called.

"David!"

Mildly surprised I turned to find Tanya standing on the corner. He eyes were wide and she looked like someone had walked over her grave.

"Am I late?" I asked. I could have sworn her break didn't start until 3:30, a full 10 minutes from the current time. Tanya shook her head violently. Something was definitely wrong, "Are you ok?"

Tanya motioned for me to follow her and she started down the busy sidewalk.

"I quit," she said after a long silent moment.

"What? Why!?"

"You don't want to know," was her cryptic answer.

We finally stopped walking and sat on a bus stop bench. I pulled out two cigarettes, one for each of us, and I asked Tanya again why she left. She took a deep breath and said:

"It isn't safe there."

Confused, wondering how a chicken restaurant could be unsafe, I stared at Tanya.

"Did you get hurt or something, cause if you did…"

Tanya cut me off.

"It's not safe for the people that eat there."

My eyes narrowed and I started to get the drift.