PRECINCT CHICKEN

The other day I had a hankering for one of my periodic infusions of KFC, better known to those of us who are unafraid to date ourselves as Kentucky Fried Chicken, and I knew of one such location near the barbecue joint where I work, perhaps not so coincidentally near Greenwood Cemetery. Sadly, a large number of NYC chicken joints attract the dregs of humanity in the form of junkies, beggars and sundry criminal types, most of whom are, sadly and embarrassingly, my fellow highly rhythmic individuals. Many such establishments are frequently held up by firearms-wielding latter day Zulus, and since it’s perceived as “boogie-on-schvuggie” crime no one really cares, so the locals who frequent these establishments have adapted and learned to accept the unscrubbed interiors and six-inch-thick bulletproof glass battlements, along with the uncouth antics of the walking minstrel show rejects who infest them. If you want an in-your-face catalog of every negative black stereotype go to nearly any KFC in Brooklyn, Queens and the Bronx — not so much Manhattan anymore since most of them have been co-opted into the Reise restaurant conglomerate and can now be found in areas frequented by tourists and other such white people — and be prepared to cringe.

So anyway, I got off the bus near 28th street and trekked over to the KFC on Fourth Avenue. I entered and was astonished by the gleaming, obviously germ-free surfaces and floor, and the complete and utter lack of bulletproof shielding. The clientele consisted of a handful of Asians — who actually cleaned up after themselves when they finished their meal, unlike most of my highly rhythmic brethren at the one near my apartment — several elderly Hispanics and three black people (myself included, and the other two were an elegant lady and her well-behaved four-year-old), and the staff were all white kids…

“Have I stumbled into an alternate plane of reality?” I asked myself as my mind frantically grasped for an explanation as to how a chicken joint that was fit for humans could exist in this location, just a stone’s throw from an equally immaculate White Castle, the infamous burger chain/colonic Chernobyl that also caters to an unsavory segment of the population.

And then I realized what was up: located directly between the two restaurants was the neighborhood police precinct. The local cops appeared to be a well-fed lot ó there is also a Dunkin Donuts across the street, and Heaven forfend that anyone should fuck with a gorging-source for our Boys in Blue…

These restaurants had to be the safest places in the area, and the staff of both smile cheerfully, secure in the knowledge that only the most cracked-out idiot with a death wish would ever entertain the thought of robbing them at gunpoint. So if you’re in the area and in the mood for secure bad eating, do drop in.