We don’t eat at Denny’s. Karen doesn’t care for their food, so we don’t stop there. The last time I remember stopping in one was in West Vancouver in 1993.
We had a long day on Monday, 10 hours on the road and a couple hours visiting in the hospital. We don’t know the area around our hotel, but we did see a Denny’s just down the road from us.
We should have looked a little harder.
The first thing that was different for us was that the waitress asked, “Smoking or non-smoking?”
That always sounds odd to us lately. Since the middle of 2006, all workplaces in Arkansas are required to be smoke free. Since a restaurant is a work place, all the restaurants in the state are smoke free.
Of course, we asked for non-smoking. I think that all there was dividing the two areas was a low wall next to the booth we were seated in.
In the booth next to us was a young couple with a several months old squalling baby. That doesn’t usually bother me too much, until the screeching hits the level where I start wincing in pain — like I did yesterday.
Over at the lunch counter, an elderly gentleman was very loudly putting down soldiers, sailors and marines. This is a military town. Down the aisle from us was a young soldier seated with a somewhat trashy looking lady who looked a bit older than him. Maybe it was his sister… or mom.
Across from them were two gentlemen in ties… and shoulder holsters for their hand weapons — police officers, I’m sure.
The old gentleman at the counter started hollering, “Young lady! Young lady!” I didn’t understand the rest of what he was saying. I started to think he was drunk… or crazy. He quieted down for a while when one of the waitresses asked him if he wanted her to call his sister.
Karen had an omelet and hash browns. It’s 8:30 in the evening. She says that Denny’s breakfasts are usually okay.
I had a burger and fries. They weren’t bad. I’ve had better.
The kid started squalling and screeching again and the old man began hollering “Young Lady! Young Lady!” again. He wasn’t hollering for — or at — the baby.
The baby’s mother was eating her t-bone steak like ribs or fried chicken — finger-licking good.
I could tell Karen was about ready to crack up.
We didn’t eat at Denny’s tonight. I think it’ll be a few years before we stop at another one.