all I need to know I learned from Chicken man

I grew up in a small town. I started working at a restaurant at the age of 14, the minimum age to begin working in the U.S. The restaurant was called "Come & Dine" and the owner was a friend of the family. My entire family (minus a couple of us) worked for the restaurant throughout my childhood. There was always a need for help during the Art Festival at Amish Acres when the restaurant would be packed with customers on the second and first floors and in a small town, everyone pitches in. Everyone gets paid to pitch in as well. My first "supervisor" was a mennonite woman named Loretta. She was something else. My Mom would tell me, when we drove past her house (she lived less than a mile away on the same county road) that she burnt their house down so that the insurance would pay for the new one they planned to build. I didn't think much of it. She was the cook at the restaurant and also cleaned houses for a living, even though her husband, Lotus, worked as a farmer and other odd jobs. Seemed to me all the mennonites and German Baptists cleaned houses if they could.  Anyway, I learned the job and started to take over the hours.  I think the owner preferred me to her (as I probably worked for less).

So one day, late in the afternoon, when there are very few customers (about 3:30 or 4 p.m.), I got an order for one breast and one wing of fried chicken.  Well, there was chicken in the warmer.  It wasn't very fresh, but it was the chicken we had.  So I put them in a container and sent it up front.  Well, not long after that, I was asked to come up front.  I met chicken man that day.  He was pissed.  He wanted FRESH, piping hot fried chicken and would not settle for less.  He had been coming to the restaurant for ages, and whenever a new person started, he had to train them!  He didn't mind waiting for fresh chicken.  He enjoyed the wait as he got to chat with the gals in the front.  So from that time on, whenever we saw him drive into the parking lot, we put a load of chicken in the fryer.  Many times, I heard Loretta shout, "Chicken man is here!"  And down the chicken went.  We would pull out the old stuff and pull it off the bone for chicken noodle soup. 

Now I am chicken man.  When I am a regular customer, I expect service.  If I do not get the service or product I expect, I will no longer be a paying customer of that establishment.  Chicken man seemed like a complete you-know-what the first time I met him, but he was actually a lovable old fart who was one of our best customers!