The good news is that perhaps I don't look as old as I feared; the bad news is that my grey beard doesn't do the trick when it could be handy (did he say Sandy*?)
"A kurczakburger, please", I said to the child working behind the counter.
"Sorry?", the child looked surprised; it was a little strange - usually I managed to confuse them when I was involuntarily consistent and asked for the completly anglicised version. But I was happy to correct myself.
"A chickenburger, please".
The attractive kid smiled.
"This is KFC", she said. "I can give you a Zinger."
"What if I asked you really nicely?"
"No", she sounded like she meant it.
I bet, though, that if I looked just a tiny bit older she'd have gone and fetched one for me - the Golden Arches were the next counter.
*just a little clever ploy to have a poor excuse to play one of my favourite songs; which is really a sign of age - music from my pre-natal** stage keeps coming back to me ever more often (next up - Miecio Fogg).
**Blimey! I've just checked - Grease is well into my post-natal years; actually, if it hadn't been for all the boozing***, I'd probably remember it.
***not at the time of the release, that is - a bit later.[1]
