An Open Letter to Panda Express
Dear Panda Express,
Last night I had an emotionally exhausting traumatizing experience at one of your locations. 30 minutes before closing time, I went in for my usual Panda Bowl of chow mein with orange chicken—nothing off the chain, fam—but ch-ch-ch-check this out, some reckless, cavalier, and foolhardy manager drunk on hubris decided to close the Panda Express kitchen early. That meant they weren’t cooking any more entrees. This is a whole half an hour before closing time. 8:30 pm. Way too early to be closing up shop, fam.
This is how it went down: I walked up to the spot and some teenage zoomer ass employee was like, “All we have is what’s currently out here. Kitchen is closed, fam.”
I was like, “Yo, fam, how is the kitchen closed this early? That ain’t 100, fam.”
He was like, “Fam, kitchen is closed. All we have is what we have out here. You feel?”
I was like, “Fam.”
He was like, “Fam.”
Then I was like, “Ok, fam, what you got out here then?”
He was like, “Sweetfire Chicken Breast®, Beef and Broccoli, Kung Pao Chicken, and Shanghai Beef.”
I was like, “So fam, you telling me and all the fam in this motherfucker that you do not have orange chicken?”
He was all, “Fam…” and I was like, “You not fam, don’t call me fam after this clownery.” And he was like, “Fam, c’mon, don’t be like that.”
We both stood there in awe of this goofy ass Family Guy, Suite Life of Zack & Cody, Everybody Loves Raymond Adam Sandler ass situation because there were only four entrees and no orange chicken. No orange chicken? No orange chicken?
I’m a simple man. I enjoy simple pleasures. I enjoy some chicken with some orange on it. When I go to Panda Express I want some orange chicken. Simple, alright? Everyone knows what the fuck an orange is. And then you got your chicken. Put them both together and it’s a miracle of culinary expression. Some Gordon Ramsay Master Chef type shit. You know how we do when Too Clout hit up Panda Express.
So to recap, there was no orange chicken, only something called “Sweetfire Chicken Breast®.” I don’t know what the fuck sweetfire is. I imagine it's some Don Draper Mad Men type shit. Something manufactured in a Madison Avenue office and therefore not authentic. You say something like “Sweetfire Chicken Breast®” out here on these streets, you’ll be in the back of a trunk rolled up in a carpet, fam. You don’t just arbitrarily spout off some Phoebe Bridgers turn of phrase like “sweetfire” on these streets.
What does sweetfire mean? I have a vague idea—some Dr. Melfi in The Sopranos therapy type shit, that Psychology 101 at the community college type shit, but I’m not an intellectual, alright? I went to community college. Then I transferred to San Jose State University. I didn’t attend an Ivy League school. This is Too Clout, fam, not Zachary Schwartz. Too Clout. Not some NPR Orville Redenbacher type motherfucker that drives around in a purple Prius and watches the Rachel Maddow show every night. I’m a regular guy that eats orange chicken at home alone in the dark, listening to Crystal Castles “Crimewave,” rewatching Sopranos Season 3 for the 100th time. You know who the fuck it is.
The whole concept of ”Sweetfire Chicken Breast®'' baffles me. I kind of get it—you’re implying that there’s sweetness and some heat—but that’s SUS. I want chicken and I want it flavored like a motherfucking orange.
It’s not like I strolled up to the Panda Express five minutes before closing. I entered the function a whole ass half an hour before closing. If I show up half a damn hour before closing, you better believe I’m expecting orange chicken, the most popular entree in Panda’s history, to be available for the streets after a long day of putting in work. I can’t believe this is official company policy. I have to assume this is the work of one renegade manager abdicating their duty and forgetting the cardinal fucking rule of Panda Express, AHOC: ALWAYS HAVE ORANGE CHICKEN. I just created that acronym.
And I wasn’t the only customer upset—customers kept pouring in greeted by empty unfilled trays and SUS Sweetfire Chicken Breast®. Every time I saw another person pull up and see all the empty trays, no orange chicken in sight, only Sweetfire Chicken Breast®, I swear, on God, at least three people mouthed the words “What the fuck?” In my head, in my mind’s eye and shit, I was like, “Yeah, I feel you, fam. Exactly.”
It was at that moment that I decided to write this open letter. You think I just be writing because I enjoy it? Like some Great Gatsby Catcher In The Rye motherfucker in a cardigan sweater? Nah, fam, I haven’t written a thinkpiece like this since English 101 at the community college.
Alright, I need to play some Civilization 6 and listen to Crystal Castles, I’m out this bitch.
Sincerely,
Too Clout
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