There are some places you only go to have the experience.
We visited an overrated eatery recently.
We sat outside on the front porch. Multitudes of people gathered from who knows where to partake of the sustenance the eatery provides. I’m guessing no matter which states they were from, every person there had a mobile home with a prehistoric car rotting somewhere on their property.
We sat across from the same people for an hour. They sat on a metal bench facing the building. We sat on a wooden bench facing the world. Between us was a highway of people somewhat akin to the autobahn.
The elderly lady in the group across from us had purple hair and kept falling asleep. My diagnosis was sleep apnea or not enough coffee. I think she needed two more pots per day. The elderly man had large glasses with a sliver of an arm extending past the lens on the right. This arm had several small round lenses hanging down to the side.
At one point, I saw a man who had put a wad of steel wool into both of his ear holes. He was walking around like it was normal. Now that I think about it, maybe that wasn’t steel wool. I think he may have needed Nair.
There was a child not quite in his preteens who kept running the length of the porch, waving at everyone. No one noticed except me, or so it seemed. We were all engrossed in our private conversations or lost in our random thoughts.
We finally heard our names over the intercom. I can’t remember the last time such joy filled my heart.
We made it to the booth unscathed, ordered our drinks, and measured out a paper towel the length of our table. A young lady appeared immediately beside our table with a bowl full of fried okra. She departed our table without a stitch of okra left.
When the food arrived, I hasted to introduce the amply sized chicken fried steak to my bicuspids.
I want to say this for the record; I am not a picky eater. I don’t critique food. I’ll eat anything except peas and cottage cheese or a piece of homemade cake with hair sticking out the sides. There was one time I bought a pizza with a two-foot-long strand of hair in one piece. I didn’t eat that piece. But the food at this restaurant was truly awful.
My taste buds revolted. It tasted like they scraped a dried cow patty off a barn floor, dipped it in batter, and fried it. The drinks tasted like they had been stored in a plastic barrel behind the store in the hot sun for the last two days.
It was at that point I realized that people do not come to this place for food or drinks. They come for the experience.
Where else can you catch your food midair? The twenty dollars I spent on the chicken fried steak wasn’t for the chicken fried steak. It was for the “free” food and the ambiance they provide — it’s all about the experience.
If we wanted good food, we would’ve gone to McDonald’s.
to the experiences,
– Caleb
caneymountainblog.com 