Deep-Fried Capitalism
KFC's Kentucky Exit Is a Crispy Case of Corporate Greed
Another American institution has been sold to the gods of corporate optimization, and this time, it’s Colonel Sanders himself being tossed out of his own backyard like yesterday’s cold wings.
KFC, the once-proud, grease-stained emblem of Kentucky, is uprooting its corporate office from Louisville and relocating to the land of big hats, big trucks, and bigger tax breaks — Plano, Texas.
That’s right, folks. The chicken empire, born in the back of a gas station in Corbin, Kentucky, is ditching its spiritual home for the generic corporate wasteland of the Lone Star State.
Yum Brands, the fast-food conglomerate that owns KFC, Taco Bell, and Pizza Hut, announced the move with the same soulless enthusiasm as a drive-thru speaker at 3 AM.
“These changes position us for sustainable growth,” chirped Yum CEO David Gibbs, which is CEO-speak for “This will save us a pile of money while making life more inconvenient for our employees.”
About 100 KFC corporate workers have six months to pack their things, load up on Tums, and head to Texas whether they like it or not.
Naturally, the mayor of Louisville, Craig Greenberg, was less than thrilled.
“I am disappointed,” he said, presumably while staring wistfully at a bucket of Extra Crispy.
He tried to find a silver lining, pointing out that Yum would maintain some sort of presence in Kentucky, including a $1 million scholarship endowment at the University of Louisville and vague plans for a flagship restaurant.
Wonderful.
A few free MBA courses and a shiny new fast-food location in exchange for decades of history. That’s what we call a fair trade in late-stage capitalism.
The relocation is part of a larger reshuffling in which Yum will consolidate KFC and Pizza Hut in Plano while Taco Bell and Habit Burger stay in Irvine, California. Because nothing fosters “greater collaboration” like forcing your employees to uproot their lives to fit into an arbitrary business strategy.
But don’t worry — Yum says they’ll offer “relocation and transition support,” which probably translates to a one-time bonus that barely covers U-Haul fees.
That and maybe a pizza party for those that completely change their lives.
This isn’t about innovation, collaboration, or better serving customers. This is about cutting costs, juicing profits, and keeping the shareholders fat and happy.
Kentucky may have birthed KFC, but in the end, loyalty doesn’t matter in a boardroom. The Colonel himself, that goateed prophet of deep-fried glory, is likely spinning in his grave fast enough to power a rotisserie.
So what’s left for Louisville? A fading memory, a plaque somewhere, and maybe — if they’re lucky — a 30-foot-tall animatronic Colonel outside the city limits, waving sadly at the corporate chicken train as it rolls down to Texas
.