That was . . . different

I decided to take the boys to the new Chick-Fil-A in The District for lunch. Usually I go through the drivethrough, because I don't particularly enjoy trying to juggle two kids who don't really listen while trying to do lunch. But I need not have worried, because they were there to serve me. And I mean it.

I pulled into my parking spot, and I was barely out of the car before a nice gentleman with an umbrella (it was sprinkling) came to keep the rain off us. Then after we got inside, and I ordered our food, the cashier said she would carry my tray to our table. Following that she went to get me straws, and grab a highchair for Ethan.

You would think that would already be above and beyond for service in a fast food place. But it wasn't. Someone came by to see if we needed our drinks refilled. And after we were done eating, another girl stopped by and took my tray with our garbage on it. It was like full service, except I didn't leave a tip.

Then, in an uncharacteristic display of niceness, I decided to let my kids play in the playplace. It was not my favorite part of the experience. There is no place in there for a parent to sit down, and there was about 20 (or more) kids in that little playroom. Really, it's not very big. It was madness. But I let the kids get some energy out, before grabbing them and making an escape.

There was no one out there waiting for me with an umbrella to escort me to my car, but I guess you can't have everything.