The Art of War Goes to Chick-fil-a: College Admission Essay Sample

It is 7:00 on Saturday morning and I walk into the Chick-fil-a kitchen. Attempting to prepare my mind for work, I enter my daydream of war to get through the upcoming seemingly endless morning. My ingredients suddenly turn into weapons and armor; my table turns into a battlefield map; my uniform turns into chainmail; boredom becomes the enemy. Putting on my gloves, I finalize my preparation. After all, no general goes into battle without his armor.

To begin my campaign, I awake the silver containers of ingredients from their Friday night slumber, preparing my table for battle. I equip my table with the standard Chick-fil-a weapons and defenses as I play blacksmith. After arming my table, I venture over to the magazine to select my weapon. A short dagger with a black hilt catches my eye. I can tell that it was forged by a master blacksmith that used the finest metals from Corporate Mountain just by felling its sharpness.

My first objective of the morning, cutting strawberries, is accomplished by decapitating their green heads and quartering their torsos with my dagger. As I lock them under my table, I notice their blood pooling at the bottom of their sticky prison before I sweep their heads into a trashcan, and wipe up their remains into a rag.

The next phase in the battle plan is to make parfaits. I look behind the cheese for yogurt but instead find treasure. My noble friend, Sir Ryan, has left me a squadron of parfaits! Excitement floods my body as I examine the tray, only to find that the parfaits have been murdered in their sleep. Blood trails from the wounds of the blueberries and strawberries, forming a patriotic portrait on the yogurt canvas. The parfaits, with looks of horror on their faces, almost seem puzzled, as if wondering why they were never eaten. Not knowing that some food gets wasted at restaurants, the parfaits spent all of their short lives hoping that they would fulfill their purpose: to satisfy a tongue. The poor snacks never reached this destiny, dying with a sense of uselessness. I can do nothing except feel helpless, knowing that there was nothing I could have done to save them. I have a moment of silence before I make the trek to the walk-in to fetch yogurt so I can replace my dear friends.

I return to my table, yogurt in hand, and a call for a special salad jerks me back into the real world. The cruel reality of cloying cooking scents and pushy customers fills my mind, distracting me. I close my eyes in an attempt to return to my fantasy, getting my medieval gears churning. My general mode clicks into gear as I snap back into focus, retaking the battlefield and getting one step closer to winning the war against boredom. I have a long morning ahead of me, and any veteran general knows that every war is won with the right mind.