I finished my order of General Tso’s chicken and reached for dessert — the fortune cookie. And got hotter than the general’s chicken when I pulled the slip out of the cookie.

My fortune came with a QR code.

Seriously?

Two troubling questions weighed upon me: One, do you have to carry a military title — such as General Tso or Colonel Sanders — to cook delicious chicken? And two, where can a person go to escape the taunting of those annoying apps and QR codes?

I’m afraid to take a walk in the woods. Not for fear that Yogi Bear will jump out and demand my picnic basket full of Sgt. Clucky’s Green Beret Fried Chicken.

I’m frightened that there will be QR codes carved into all the trees: “Red oak or white oak? Scan this QR code to find out.”

A couple weekends ago, I ran away to the zoo, one of my favorite places to escape everyday craziness. But at the gate, instead of tickets, people flashed their cellphones at attendants who scanned admission codes off the screens — from apps, I presume.

Inside the zoo, QR codes had been added next to the exhibit name plates: “Scan this code to learn more about the prowling habits of the Black Bog One-Eyed Horned Wampus Cat.”

On my way home, I pulled through the Lieutenant Henny’s Cheep-Cheep Chicken drive-through. A voice cackled over the intercom, “Will you be using your mobile app today?”

No. I don’t have a mobile app. I don’t want a mobile app. What I want is a chicken sandwich and a Coke. You can’t plop mayo or ice on an app to make it taste any better.

“I’m sorry that you feel that way, sir. If you’d like to register a comment with our corporate office, simply scan the QR code and…”

I squawked like a chicken and squealed out of the drive-through.

Back in my day (does that make me sound old?), phones hung on walls and stayed there. They didn’t go with you to restaurants, stores or amusement parks, and we weren’t apt to burden our clunky ol’ rotary dial phones with apps.

We’d never heard of apps, but they sounded a lot like naps. Back then, I didn’t care for naps, either. Now I never pass up a chance for a good nap, but I’ll always take a pass on an app. Can you please just bring me an order of chicken pot pie? And hold the QR codes.

Also back in my day restaurants didn’t feature apps or signs advising us to scan the QR code for the menu.

The closest thing we had for drive-up entertainment was the root beer stand where you’d park, and servers would roll up to your car on skates to take your order.

I can still see that tray loaded with hot dogs and glass mugs of root beer that the roller skate lady hung from Dad’s car window.

The server never said, “Will you be using your mobile app today?” She was more likely to yelp, “Oops. The mug shattered, but I think the fries are still good if you want me to scoop them up off the asphalt. We just had the parking lot power washed last month.”

And they never cajoled you into taking a short survey afterward either. Aren’t apps and QR codes enough of an intrusion? Oh, no. Once you use one of them, a “short survey” will pop up, asking you to answer a few questions about your experience today.

My experience with the whole thing is like that of a guy who takes a great big chomp out of a chocolate chip cookie only to discover that they’re — blech — raisins.

Please, the next time I order — in person, not my mobile app today, thank you — sweet and sour chicken from Captain Nugget’s Poultry Emporium and Car Wash, skip the side order of code. It’ll make me QR queasy. Or QR crazy.

Then you won’t want to crow about the rating I’ll peck out on your stupid pop-up survey.

Scan Cole’s complaints at burton.w.cole@gmail.com. No Q’s or R’s are in the code.