It happened in slow motion. I set down my Chick-fil-A bag to grab a straw, but the paper cocoon just wasn't stable enough for the firm white table of suffering that I put it on. I saw it tip forward, taunting me, but as I reached out, it was too late. The waffle fries were scattered all over the cold, unforgiving floor, with an exploded yellow Chick-fil-A sauce splattered like blood at a crime scene. In that moment, I finally understood.