The House of Chicken Children's Book

"Nick. The phone," Mom said sternly.

I tried once more. "I'm right in the middle of something important,
Mom."

"Nicholas." This time I sensed she meant business.

I slowly walked to the kitchen and picked up the phone. "Hello," I
said meekly.

It was the dreaded call. And of course Big Red sounded just like I
would have expected.
"Well howdy guy," he said in a voice that was far too happy, and a
little too loud. "This here's Big Red from The House of Chicken.
How's life been treatin' ya?"

Things were looking far worse than I had imagined. "I'm okay," I
mumbled. Or at least I was okay, I thought to myself.

"Great! That's just great!" he said. "And I bet you're gonna feel even
better when I tell ya I'm gonna do a little phone interview with ya.
That way, if things go well, you can start a little quicker. Can you talk
for a few minutes?"

"Yeah, I guess so," I managed.

"Great, guy," he said. "Now what made you decide to apply for
work at The House of Chicken, anyway?"

I considered telling him the sad but true story of King Tut and his
untimely death [Dad's pet name for his lawn mower---which had hit
the dust after my attempt to fix it]. And just as quickly I decided it
wasn't such a good idea, since there was a chance he might side with
Dad. "Well, I guess because you hire kids who are my age," I finally
said.

"Yer, right there, guy," he said. "We believe in developing talent and
work ethics at an early age." He cleared his throat. "Now, what
would make you think you're qualified for the job Nick?" he
continued.

My mouth dropped in disbelief. Was this guy for real? Did he think
you had to have qualifications to pick up trash? In the end I decided
to humor him with his little phone interview. "Well, I guess I'm a good
worker. And I realize most careers start at the bottom, and I couldn't
think of anything lower than cleaning up garbage, so I applied for this
job." After I said that I wondered if it came out just right. Somehow it
wasn't exactly what I'd hoped it would sound like.

But he chuckled and said, "Well, yer right guy. Ya gotta start
somewhere with yer career. Now, I have one more question," he
said. "Are you trustworthy and reliable?"

Okay, what did he think I was going to say? I plan on bringing stolen
chicken home nightly for my family's dinner, and I plan on only
coming to work when I'm bored and there's nothing else in my life to
do? But of course I answered, "Yes sir, I'm very trustworthy and
reliable."

"Well, then that sounds just great to me, guy. I look forward to
having you join our little team. Now you get yourself over to The
House of Chicken and pick up a uniform. You got a job fella.
Congratulations!"

I gripped the phone tightly and made a little gasp noise. The word
uniform seemed to reverberate through my head like a Chinese gong.
Uniform! How could I have forgotten about wearing a uniform? And
to make things worse, what he called a uniform was actually a
chicken suit. A CHICKEN SUIT!

He naturally mistook my gasp for happiness and excitement. "I
thought you'd be pleased. Now hop on over here and we'll have you
sign some papers and get you fitted with a Mr. Clucker bus boy
uniform. You can start work at eleven sharp Thursday morning. See
ya then guy."

I put the phone down. I think I was in a state of shock. Slowly I
walked over to the living room window and pulled back the drape
and looked along the curb. My only hope was now gone. The trash
collectors had already picked up King Tut. There was no chance of
ever putting him back together again.