The chicken shop was

crowded.
Now let it be said here that I think this is only time I have used the chicken shop  at lunch time. Apart from that I have been in there twice with Middle Cat, once almost eighteen years ago and the other close on four years ago. Yes, the occasions stick in my mind because I really don't do "fast" food.
Yesterday I had to give in. Wednesday's funeral, some unexpected work, a sick friend, other people needing help or just a listening ear and, at 12.16 pm, I realised that there was absolutely nothing to feed the Senior Cat on as I had not managed to get home with the shopping. It would, I decided, have to be a chicken. (It would have been quiche only the shop which used to sell good quality quiche no longer sells it - probably because it was good quality.) The chicken is at least genuinely free range from this particular shop.
And of course the shop sells other things - fish, chips, hamburgers, hot dogs, steak sandwiches, soft drinks, and salads for the most part. At least, they were the things I noticed.
It's a popular place. I was in a queue waiting to be served. There were workmen in safety boots and jackets ahead of me. Immediately in front of me was a wiry little man with an enormous black canvas bag and behind me there were two girls covered in tattoos.  It was all interesting to observe.
Actually it was fascinating. I had no idea how much money these people were prepared to spend on their lunch. I could see the cash register. I could see the amount that was rung up. The minimum amount was $11:50 and the maximum was $18:70 - and some of these people seemed to be regulars. They were all processed fairly quickly.
Then the wiry little man in front of me took his place. He held out his phone silently.
     "I don't understand mate," the man behind the counter told him. He took the phone and shook his head. The wiry little man looked anxious and held the phone out to me. There was a picture of a hamburger and an egg.
      I took a guess. "I think he wants a hamburger with only the egg - no meat."
And then I asked, "Halal?"
He nodded and looked anxiously at me again. 
      "Does he want one egg or two eggs?"
I pointed to the egg and held up one finger and then two and looked at him again. He held up two fingers and there was the faintest hint of a smile.
     "Drink?" I asked him and signed it this time because it is the same.
He nodded and I pointed to the cabinet where you help yourself. He collected a can and paid and then went and stood against the wall to wait.
    "A chicken please," I told the man behind the counter.
    "Sure thing," he told me, "Just let me do these orders."
He took the orders of the two girls with tattoos and the workman behind them. He made the egg only hamburger and the wiry little man raised his thumb and nodded his thanks at me and left the shop. 
The man behind the counter put a chicken in a bag for me, added some chips I had not asked for and said, "Weird, nobody's ever asked me for that before."
    "I think he's Muslim," I said, "He wouldn't eat bacon and probably not the meat unless it was Halal."
    "Poor guy."
All I could hope is that his lack of English is temporary.
I left the shop and yes, there was the wiry little man with his wife in her hijab. They were sitting there at one of the two tables a little further down. They were sharing the hamburger and the can of drink. As I pedalled past I heard a hesitant,
    "Thank you."
That was his wife.
Yes, they are learning English.