tales from the freeway
DH and I have flown the coop, so to say. For years and years we’ve said how much we want to go to Salt Lake City and see the lights at Temple Square.… someday, when we had time. Well, there’s no time like the presently unemployed time, right?
Anyhoo… about halfway through our drive, we decided to stop off for dinner at a little gas station / A&W restaurant. (This particular spot holds a dear place in our heart; we stopped there on an anniversary trip about 10 years ago and encountered a bride and groom ordering their dinner there… still in their gown and tuxedo. We thought it was a riot then, and still do.) Anyway… dinner itself was uneventful (aside from the very Napolean-esque disco music wafting through the speakers). It was the café next door that caught my eye and make me choke on a French fry. Whoever entered in the text for the flashing reader board really should have thought about the sequence:
“R U HUNGRY”
“STOP HERE”
“BREAKFAST SERVED”
“ALL DAY”
“BIG BEN OMELETTES”
“BIGGEST OMELETTES”
“IN TOWN”
“SERVICE WITH A SMILE”
“OPEN 24 HOURS”
“GREAT DINNER MENU”
“T-BONES 2 DIE FOR”
“COOK WANTED”
Which, of course, begs the question… did the previous cook eat a T-bone that was a little *too* rare?
Gulp. I’ll stick with A&W, thanks.
