Rollerblades and Chicken on a Stick
This past weekend, I visited my happy place- Oxford, Mississippi. Oxford is a sleepy college town rich in culture. It is filled with incredible writers both past and present, SEC football, and extremely delicious southern food. As I visited a popular eatery, a curb station lovingly referred to as “chicken on a stick”, I couldn’t help but remember one of my favorite and somewhat embarrassing stories from my college days. It was 2003, and I was around twenty two years old. My friends and I were loving the experience of being college students in a small town and were always up for a good time. In Oxford, Mississippi, the bars close at midnight on weeknights and one in the morning on a Friday, Saturday, or game day. I like to think this is the town and university’s way of giving the students some sort of curfew, but college kids will always find a way to keep the party going, especially in Oxford.
Once the bars closed, the next stop was “late night.” This usually took place at someone’s rented home off campus or at the edge of Sardis Lake, a few miles out, on a muddy and trash laden bank. It was small town Mississippi after all. One particular late night was taking place on a Thursday at the “Yella House” as my girlfriends and I referred to it. The home, which was much nicer than anything we should have ever lived in at that age, was being rented by a few girls from a local bar owner. Needless to say, the rules were lax. That particular late night, the home was filled with friends, foes, crushes, exes, and ruffians all alike.
As I sat on the front porch, discussing the latest social happenings with my friends, Ashley and Shannon, we decided that we were absolutely starving and nothing in the pantry would suffice. We knew if we did not get chicken on a stick in our bodies, there was no way we would survive the next day.
Now, anyone and everyone who has ever been overserved in Oxford, Mississippi, knows that the very best late night food and cure for an impending hangover can be found at the local Chevron station on the corner of the famous downtown square. There, at this fine establishment, one can find a piping hot assortment of fried chicken on a stick, tater logs, egg rolls, pizza sticks, and so much more. But the classic order is and always will be the chicken on a stick- salty and crisp pieces of fried chicken placed on a skewer, making it easy for the most inebriated to eat. After midnight the line would almost always be out the door, and the chicken on a stick almost always fresh.
Being that it was 2003 and before the times of Uber, Lyft, or even taxis in the small town, we put our drunken heads together to formulate a plan on how to safely procure our late night chicken on a stick without getting arrested for public intoxication or driving under the influence. We thought for what seemed like an hour but most likely was five minutes, and decided that we must absolutely use the roller blades that had arrived at the “Yella House” earlier in the week. To this day, I am not sure why they were there in the first place.
It was decided. Ashley and I would be the ones to sacrifice ourselves and skate to the famous Chevron, which was most likely a mile or two down the road. It seemed like a genius plan. Now, I have always been an athletic person, however, roller blades have never been my thing. I blame the extremely high arch in my narrow foot. Roller skates- maybe. But not roller blades. And why I thought that after a few hours of happily partaking in the spirits of college bars, that I would all of the sudden be the world’s most coordinated roller-blader, I simply do not know.
Ashley laced up her blades, then helped me with mine, and Shannon sent us on our way with her highly anticipated order placed. As I hobbled along, I looked to my left, and Ashley was doing what seemed to be perfect figure eights in the street on the way to the Chevron. How on Earth had she hidden this talent from me? She laughed at my attempts to catch up, not wanting to make me feel bad, but unable to hide that she thought I looked like a newborn giraffe learning how to use its legs.
We finally rounded the final corner and could see the fluorescent blue and white lights of the Chevron sign in the distance. Ashley encouraged me and waited behind, letting me get a head start, since she was the professional blader and all. What we didn’t realize is that the road we were on had a gradual downward decline. As I got my distance out front, I realized Ashley was steadily gaining speed on me. “I can’t stop!” she yelled with laughter. Just as I tried to move to the safety of the grass on the side, Ashley unintentionally collided with me and knocked my legs right out from underneath my body. Across the street of the most popular curb store in the state, I had landed as hard as I could on the concrete pavement- right on my tailbone.
Tears instantly came from the pain that broke through my drunken stupor. Ashley was again trying not to laugh, apologizing and making sure I was okay. “I think I broke my tailbone!” I said through tears. She helped me take my roller blades off as I was officially on the injured list.
“I can’t walk,” I told Ashley through my tears.
“You have to! Just make it to the Chevron so we can get our chicken on a stick, and we will get someone to drive us home. We can’t quit now!”
Ashley helped lift my broken body (or bottom) from the ground and we hobbled across the street. She placed me on the curb right next to the crowded front entrance and sat my roller blades to the right of me. Tears streamed down my face as familiar customers came in and out of the door, asking if I was alright. Meanwhile, Ashley had skated on in and gotten in line, making sure our mission wasn’t for nothing. Yes- she was skating throughout the Chevron (and very well might I add).
As I patiently waited for my friend (and my chicken on a stick), I leaned on one cheek, as to not put pressure on my broken or heavily bruised tailbone. Right as I adjusted, the front door to the Chevron swung open. Much to my dismay, there he was- my ex-boyfriend whom I had broken up with the previous week, only to assume we would eventually find our way back to each other and end up living happily ever after. He stopped, cocked his head to the side, and chewed a bite of his own freshly fried chicken while thinking to himself. I can only imagine what I looked like- hazy eyes smeared with makeup from both tears of broken tailbone pain and too much booze, leaning on a set of rollerblades with my ass half up off the curb. What a glamorous treasure I must have appeared to be. I’m sure he asked himself right then and there, “How will I ever get her back?”
I sheepishly looked at my ex and quietly said through tears, “I think I broke my tailbone.” I’m not quite sure what I expected in response, but it certainly wasn’t what came next. With his ego bruised from the recent dumping, he swallowed his chicken on a stick and simply replied, “You’ve lost it.”
“Well clearly,” I thought to myself. No words came back as a response. Only more drunken tears, and he disappeared into the night with a group of rowdy college age boys ready to hit the next spot.
A couple of minutes after the unfortunate interaction, my friend Ashley came skating out in all her glory- double fisting two bags of fresh fried and greasy food. About that time, we noticed our dear friend, Justin, whipping into the Chevron for a late night snack himself. He had just come off of his bartending shift and graciously offered to take the two roller girls home, which was obviously needed at that point.
The next week was a tenuous one, going to class with my doughnut pillow in hand, and having to explain how my accident occurred when questioned. Interestingly enough, not one person thought it was a bad idea to rollerblade to the Chevron after midnight. Maybe it was simply because they understood the obsessive need for the delicious good ole chicken on a stick and what one must go through to get it when they’re in a bind. Try one for yourself if you don’t believe me. They are delicious.
*The original Chevron and chicken on a stick can be found at 502 S Lamar Blvd, Oxford, MS, 38655.
And for the true chicken on a stick lovers in your life, check out these fabulous finds from @bearhausprints and @bunlimitedoxford. I don’t know about you, but I’d love one as a stocking stuffer.