28 February 2026
1151
R. Linda:
Well, I have to tell you, it was an experience last Friday that I don't often have. I had me annual eye exam, and when I was there, they wanted to dilate me pupils. I took Tonya with me so she could drive, and because it was a great excuse to eat out. With the snow, she was off, and I had already taken a personal day, so we left the kiddos with Mam and went to vision care. Drops were administered, no change in eyesight, and we were off to the Cracker Barrel for luncheon.
As we were pulling up to the restaurant, a small school bus was stopped on the other side of the road, its lights flashing. Traffic on both sides was backed up, waiting for someone to get off the bus. And we waited, and waited, until we were trying to see if anyone was actually at the wheel of the bus. I couldn't see with the dilated eyes, so I took Tonya's word that there was a driver. We continued to wait. I believe we waited a good 15 minutes (all of us) for a grown woman to get off the bus. Tonya was like WHAT? It seemed the woman and the bus driver were chatting all that time, holding up traffic, and in a strange twist, no one honked their horn, but this isn't Boston.
As the bus pulled away and we started forward on our side, I saw the dark-haired woman from the bus walk towards her house (I assume her house) that was nearly at the curb, when suddenly she disappeared, and in her place was a blond woman walking her dog.
"Wait," I said, "Where did the other woman go, and where did that one with the dog come from?
"I saw the same thing you did," Tonya said, laughing, "and I don't have drops in my eyes."
That was bizarre, and neither of us has an explanation. It was a harbinger of what was to come.
We got to the Cracker Barrel Restaurant, and we were both hungry, having had no breakfast and little coffee. Me eye appointment was at 10, and the vision centre was an hour away, so we had sipped coffee quickly and, just as quickly, showered, dressed, and hit the road, leaving us famished! And, we were cold as well. When we first got to the Cracker Barrel, there were two shop girls in the product part of the store. Girls, isn't the right word, both of them were older than me own mother. A couple was waiting to be seated at the restaurant in front of us, asking questions about the menu and trying to decide whether they even wanted to be seated. Who freaking does that?
The hostess was a cheery sort, with crinkly eyes, that when she smiled, all the wrinkles settled on her ample forehead, making her look like someone from another planet. She was more than accommodating in explaining nearly every dish on the huge menu. We couldn't believe we were waiting once again, just to be seated. I even mumbled to Tonya, we were there for the food, so please seat us while these two deadheads make a decision.
Finally, we two hungry people were seated by another hostess (who seemingly came out of the woodwork - it was turning into that kind of a day), and she reminded us of the goblin Griphook from the Harry Potter movie The Philosopher's Stone. Her ancient ears stuck out from her head, and her nose was thin and pointy. We looked at each other, thinking the same thing. We did mention how chilled we were, and she was good enough to seat us in front of a gigantic fireplace.
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| The large fireplace gave off MUCH heat |
As we sat there contemplating the menu, Tonya remarked that everyone in the place had white hair and a cane. I looked around, and from waitstaff to customers, we were the only "children" in the place. Our waitress was the youngest of the crew and a bit of a wit.
I was handed a menu that I realised I couldn't read because me eyes were dilated. The waitress looks at me questioningly, and I tell her my eyes are dilated from an eye exam I just had. And she says, "Oh, I noticed that, I thought you were on drugs!"
Ok then. I secretly found her druggy remark funny.
Tonya read off the million selections, and I somehow saw the picture of the Nashville chicken dish (which looked inviting), but when I went to order it, I was told it's only available on Saturdays. What? And the waitress pointed to the banner under the chicken that said that. Well, I was disappointed, and when she saw I really wanted that chicken dish, she told me that if I ordered another chicken dish, she'd slip the Nashville sauce in so I could dip and eat. I took her up on it and sat back to wait, wondering why I ordered what I did, which would be the same dish without the sauce, but the sauce was being added. I felt old-person befuddled, I did.
Anyway, she brought us our orders and everything, and I mean everything came at once. The appetiser, the biscuits, the entrees, the coffee, the water. ALL OF IT! Tonya and I were hustling to move dishes to one side so the rest could be placed. I tell ya!
Well, my dear R. Linda, I cut me chicken breast into slivers and dipped it in the Nashville sauce, and I can tell you, thanks to Tonya's observation, smoke was not only going up the fireplace, but was coming out of me ears, nose, mouth and the top of me head, it was! Between the sauce and the fireplace, I was one sweaty mess, I was!
"WOW!" I said. "How can these old people eat this stuff? It be frying me insides and forget me tongue, it's hot stuff there, Tonya."
Our waitress was passing our table when Tonya asked her to substitute the spicy maple sauce for the Nashville, because her husband (that be me), who couldn't articulate because his tongue was a hot mess of swollen taste buds, wasn't tolerating the heat from the Nashville sauce. This said with a bat of eyelashes, which, if our server were a man, might have the desired effect. In this case, the waitress blinked back at her and asked if Tonya was quite alright and if she had something in her eye.
Anyway, after some hemming and hawing on Tonya's part, the maple sauce was brought to me, and I will say that was delicious stuff. I could have drunk it down; it was so good. It at least took me mind off the sweat pouring off me from the fireplace and the inner heat from the Nashville catastrophe. Which, if I had swallowed me overheated pride, would have had me dancing around the joint, it was that HOT!
When all was said and done, the waitress asked me how I liked that maple sauce. I told her to just call me Uncle Herschel. I was good with everything. She did notice I had a small portion of chicken breast left and four biscuits. She told me she'd get me a box so I could enjoy it as a sandwich the next day. I did notice the portions are big (we never finished the delicious onion appetiser or the biscuits; there was too much food ... all at once). I had looked at Tonya, like What the heck? when the waitress left us for the boxes.
"I think because this place is frequented by the elderly, they know they can't eat all the food, so they box the leftovers for them as a snack for later."
"Oh, you think? And I fall into that category, do I?" I joked with her. Well, being a guy, I do know how much our stomachs come into play when it comes to snacks and food in general. So happily, we boxed out our food stash and left for the gift shop. No snoggers this time, just old timers wandering the short aisles looking at sparkly hats and clothing. I suggested a few cowgirl rhinestone dresses to Tonya, but she had none of it. We left empty-handed, but with food boxes, so we were all set.
I did have me chicken, not as a sanny, but cut up and dipped into the spicy maple sauce the next day. I really enjoyed it, was SOOO good! I just don't get why this second visit to the Barrel had crazy things happen to moi. What magic trick was the school bus woman's disappearance and magical reappearance as someone else with a dog, no less, perpetrated on me? Why was I made to listen to 25 minutes of "What's this dish?" and "Henry, do you want to eat here, or what?" What indeed. Why was I served hotter-than-hell sauce and placed in front of the biggest, hottest fireplace I've ever seen? Why do I get wits as servers, and a pile of food flooding me table all at the same time, so I can't enjoy each morsel separately? Why am I treated like I be 80 years old or like a child of 7 by people I don't know?
Tonya says, "You're just lucky, I guess."
I hate to say this, but the experience (with the exception that the food is really GOOD) reminded me of our awful experience in Sherbrooke Village, Canada (see Story #586, Sheet Harbour And Sherbrooke Village, Nova Scotia, 09 October, 2010), where we were made to wait an hour to be seated while a busload of seniors finished luncheon, and then were told we could only have the soup with half a sanny each!
INDEED LUCKY!
Gabe
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