Dear Buffalo Wild Wings,

You remember the part in the Christmas story where Mary and Joseph are turned away by the innkeeper because there are no vacancies in the inn? Well on Saturday, April 30th, 2011, you too turned away a pregnant woman who had needs. You did not even offer her a stable where she could pick at the remaining morsels of chicken flesh on the bones your customers throw away.

Yes, that’s right. This is a sob story. You turned away a pregnant woman who had cravings.

She had worked especially hard that day – from noon to 8:30 pm on a Saturday, no less. She was trying to help us save money for our forthcoming child. When she came through the door that night, she immediately told me she wanted Buffalo Wild Wings. She wanted to ingest the wings of your mighty buffalo and utilize the protein they contained to help build her indwelling baby. You could have left an indelible biological stamp on our baby. Instead, you stomped on our hopes and left an indelible shoe-prints on our souls.

How did you turn us away? Oh, I thought you would never ask. You see, we walked up to the front door and a balding man – could have been the manager, could have been the owner, could have been a buffalo disguised as a man – came out and said in an abrupt, dismissive tone, “We’re filled to capacity. Come back at midnight.” No apologies. No “Oh, you look pregnant. I bet you’re only here at 9:00 pm because you have cravings you cannot possibly manage or understand.No nothing. No coupons for free wings. No look of restauranteur remorse. Not even a complementary tub of bleu cheese dipping sauce for my wife to cool her heels in after a long day on her feet.

Come back at midnight? Really? Pregnant women pass out much earlier than that, Buffalo Wild Wings. Lawrence would be rubble by midnight if my wife could not satisfy her cravings. You don’t need a stampede of buffalo to flatten a town like a tortilla. A one pregnant-woman stampede will suffice, I assure you.

I told my wife I could buy a chicken from a poultry farmer, grind up dried cayenne peppers with a mortar and pestle, and create all of the other necessary ingredients for wings from scratch, but she knew I could never kill a chicken. She said I should write a letter to you instead. “Less mess,” she said.

I want you to acknowledge my pregnant wife and her cravings, Buffalo Wild Wings. I want your head honcho –  your Big Cheese Buffalo – to make amends with my wife and our indwelling child. Up until Saturday, April 30th, 2011 at 9:00 pm, we were planning to name our little one Buffalo Wild Wings Johnston. But then and there, we changed our minds. You have lost the name forever, but you can still retain us as customers if you only you will put a little effort into it.

It is also worth mentioning that, immediately following our rejection from your establishment, we walked down the street to Papa Keno’s and were told by the churlish man-child at the counter, “Sorry, but we’re out of sh*t.” Unless he was preparing for a colonoscopy, I could not imagine how this could be the case. We had no intention of ordering excrement anyway. We wanted pizza if we could not have our beloved buffalo wings. We walked out of Papa Keno’s empty-handed, and with empty stomachs as well.

Which brings me back to you, Buffalo Wild Wings. If only you had not turned us away that fateful night, we would not have had to suffer an additional rejection at Papa Keno’s. We felt like second-class citizens that night. We wept openly in my 2003 Dodge Stratus and had to keep the windows rolled down to prevent the car from flooding with saline.

I have shared our story with you. Here’s what I want to know: What are you going to do about this mess, Buffalo Wild Wings? You can’t just coat this letter in dipping sauce and eat it and pretend you never received it. No amount of wing sauce or bleu cheese dressing can drown out the voice of conscience. We await your reply with empty stomachs and hopeful hearts.


The Guy Who Had to Escort His Crestfallen Wife Away from Your Establishment


The manager of the Lawrence, KS restaurant personally contacted me and apologized for the circumstances, saying the man who turned us away should have escorted us to the take-out counter so we could order eats ‘n’ treats. He was kind enough to provide us with some in-house credit so we can fill our stomachs with free, fluttering buffalo wings. He also admitted – somewhat sheepishly – that this post made him laugh. I explained that it was my intent to entertain as well as to bring about the kind of justice that can be dipped in bleu cheese dressing, so I was glad. He wants to meet the wife and me now, which is also fun. All in all, then, this post was a great success, and my faith in Buffalo Wild Wings has been restored. Even Becki is excited about eating there again, which is the ultimate sign of forgiveness.