AI in the Bojangles Line

AI in the Bojangles Line

by Ricky Fitzpatrick for The Creative South

Progress always seems to arrive in the South the same way a thunderstorm does…suddenly, loudly, and right when you were hoping for a quiet afternoon. 

And nowhere has that been truer than at the Bojangles drive-thru at Banks Crossing, where the newest employee isn’t a teenager wearing a headset, but a cheerful-sounding robot with a corporate-approved accent and a questionable grasp of human emotion.

Yes, friends. Bojangles has gone AI. And Southerners are…adjusting.

Now, I’m not opposed to technology. I like conveniences as much as the next person. But the moment I pulled up and heard a bright, oddly enthusiastic voice say, “Welcome to Bojangles! Please tell me how I can make your day delicious!” I felt my soul leave my body for just a moment.

This is because the average Southerner prefers to interact with people who sound like they’ve lived a life. We trust a voice that implies experience. Someone who knows heartbreak, humidity, and the proper ratio of butter to biscuit.

The AI doesn’t sound like that. The AI sounds like a preschool teacher who has never been truly tired.

But still, there we were, lined up around the building, engines idling, windows down, committed to the cause. Because you can digitize the menu board, automate the greeting, and replace the voice with a chip in a box…but you cannot remove the Southern devotion to a Bo-Berry Biscuit.

I watched as a man in a dusty white F-250 pulled up to the speaker. He leaned toward it like it might bite. It chirped, “Hi friend! What can I get started for you today?”
There was a long silence, followed by a cautious: “Uh… y’all got Cajun biscuits this mornin’?”

The AI cheerfully confirmed it did. The man exhaled like he had just passed a very stressful exam.

Behind him, a woman in a minivan was practicing her order out loud, almost as if preparing for a job interview. “Large sweet tea…no, extra large…sausage egg biscuit…add Bo Rounds…don’t forget the Bo Rounds…” When the AI greeted her, she jumped like someone had snuck up behind her in a grocery store aisle.

But she got through it. Because Southerners persevere.

In front of me, a young man tried to speak slowly so the AI would understand him better. Because for reasons we cannot explain, we treat AI the same way we treat out-of-town relatives. We slow down, we enunciate, and we choose very simple words:

“Two. Biscuits. Please.” Like we’re teaching the alphabet.

Not everyone was rattled, though. There was an older gentleman who leaned out his window and said, “Well hey there, sugar! Put me down for a Bo-Berry Biscuit.” He didn’t care if he was talking to a human or a toaster with a speaker. He was hungry.

Here’s the thing: 

Yes, the AI is a strange new chapter in the Bojangles saga. 

Yes, it feels odd to place a deeply personal breakfast order with something that has never tasted grits. 

Yes, it sometimes gets the order wrong in ways no human ever would.

And no, Katherine’s Kitchen would’ve never done it this way.

But we stay. We adapt. We circle that building every morning like pilgrims approaching a breakfast shrine.

Why? Because the rhythms we fall into tell our life story. And for many of us, a morning without Bojangles just doesn’t feel quite right.

Technology may change, the workers may change, the community may grow, and the speaker box might now talk like a kindergarten robot learning its manners…but the tradition remains: 

Get in line. Order your biscuit. Start your day.

And around here, whether it’s a person or a piece of software calling your number, one truth still holds: If you want something enough…especially something buttery, flaky, or glazed bright blue and sugary…you’ll figure out who to talk to.