by Pa Rock
Holiday Diner
I arrived at the Cracker Barrel in Goodyear, Arizona, yesterday around one in the afternoon, and though the place was nearly full and very busy, I was immediately shown to a table. Like almost everyone else in the homey restaurant, I was there for the Thanksgiving special - a meal of turkey and dressing with a slice of ham, sweet potato casserole (which I don't care for), one extra side dish (make mine corn, please), biscuit, cornbread, a piece of wonderful pumpkin pie, and a glass of iced tea. All of that for ten dollars and a penny - plus a respectable tip, of course.
I had just gotten seated when my phone began to buzz, indicating that I had received a text message. Obviously someone had died, so I felt obliged to read it. The text was from my sister, Gail, and nobody had died. She wanted me to know that she had just arrived at the Cracker Barrel in Venice, Florida, and it was going to be forty-five minutes before she could be seated. We exchanged a few messages about how good the meals looked in Arizona and how hungry she was in Florida - until my food arrived and she probably found someone for a game of checkers on the Cracker Barrel front porch.
I'm not much on texting, in fact, I don't like it, but it was nice having someone to visit with during my wait up until Thanksgiving lunch. I'm sure that the waitresses and some of the customers might have mistaken me for just some rude guy with an electronic toy, but that wasn't me. I was just some old guy chatting with his only sibling while waiting on the turkey and dressing.
We were a family enjoying the holiday the best we could.
Holiday Diner
I arrived at the Cracker Barrel in Goodyear, Arizona, yesterday around one in the afternoon, and though the place was nearly full and very busy, I was immediately shown to a table. Like almost everyone else in the homey restaurant, I was there for the Thanksgiving special - a meal of turkey and dressing with a slice of ham, sweet potato casserole (which I don't care for), one extra side dish (make mine corn, please), biscuit, cornbread, a piece of wonderful pumpkin pie, and a glass of iced tea. All of that for ten dollars and a penny - plus a respectable tip, of course.
I had just gotten seated when my phone began to buzz, indicating that I had received a text message. Obviously someone had died, so I felt obliged to read it. The text was from my sister, Gail, and nobody had died. She wanted me to know that she had just arrived at the Cracker Barrel in Venice, Florida, and it was going to be forty-five minutes before she could be seated. We exchanged a few messages about how good the meals looked in Arizona and how hungry she was in Florida - until my food arrived and she probably found someone for a game of checkers on the Cracker Barrel front porch.
I'm not much on texting, in fact, I don't like it, but it was nice having someone to visit with during my wait up until Thanksgiving lunch. I'm sure that the waitresses and some of the customers might have mistaken me for just some rude guy with an electronic toy, but that wasn't me. I was just some old guy chatting with his only sibling while waiting on the turkey and dressing.
We were a family enjoying the holiday the best we could.
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