The night passed uneventfully, the morning was a grim sight to wake up to. Darkness and shadow reigned the parking lot, clouds of rain swelling up in preperation for a miserable day.
6am at a hotel means only one thing: Continental breakfast. Bountiful feasts of mediocre bacon and eggs at some hotels, at other lodging establishments, slim servings of miniature muffins and bruised bananas. Our hotel was firmly established in the nutritional wasteland of the latter.
A goop dispenser sat beside a plethora of disposable cups, each destined to be filled with said goop for 20 seconds, emptied, and thrown out. This goop was poured into a greased mold and turned over, emerging with a hiss from the cast-iron contraption as a soft, rather warm and slightly wet waffle. This waffle, my waffle, my creation, upon being pried from the maw of the metal beast earned me praise from the nearby breakfast czar. While ensuring the meager supplies were constantly and competently replenished she allowed me the praise of a "That's a mightah fine waffle yew've got thar!"
My reply?
"I've had practice." Then I slathered the waffle with syrup and ate every last bite. It was delicious in a very warm, sugary way. Done with it, I vowed to myself to eat healthier for the rest of the trip.
--
The next few hours we talked about Will Smith, his hopes, his dreams and our impersonations of him grew ever wilder. This was kept up until one of us declared that we were in Sonic country, and that a Sonic burger would be a thing to try. In all honestly, it was myself, the narrator, Erik who suggested Sonic, my earlier vow thrown to the dogs like a scoundrel.
Upon locating a Sonic in the middle of a sun-blasted rural village rife with bail-bond and typing services, we realized that we had no concept of the strange device in front of us: A Drive-In Order Board.
The board was a menu, on it were pictures of food and advertisements for specials. One was peculiar in its unabashed gluttony. "Drink More Pie."
How many pies is a good number to drink? My thoughts: None. More than none is some, and some is just one to many for Number of Pies Drank.
We were flummoxed, unsure of how to proceed. Did we go inside? No, employees only. Did we wait? Nothing happened when we did. Moments passed. Three of us hopped out of the car to study the board more closely.
There was a Big Red Button, the kind used to launch missiles. There was no instructions on or around the button to indicate it's use. We touched the button, unsure if it should be pushed, but eventually ventured forth.
Quickly we ordered our food and it arrived a few minutes later. Our server was a delightful stereotype of a kind southern lady. She noted our trouble with the menu board, we detailed our origin story from Canada, the drive, and our confusion with the idea of a Drive In Eatery.
She said something then, "Welcome to the Real World."
Was this the real world?
--
We made a pact, we four, before even spending moment one in the US of A.
"If you meet a girl in Florida who does not say Cal-adge instead of College, you marry her."
So far we four gentle sirs remain single and unbetrothed.
--
Who is more famous? Don Pardi, or Matt Heyes? This conversation took up several hours of our ride. The answer? Nobody knows.
Also, Biscuit World is real. I was a kid when I came down last and recalled a place called Biscuit World that we drove past. All you can eat biscuits and gravy for NINETY NINE CENTS.
NINETY NINE CENTS!!!!!!!
I shudder to think what corners were cut on the quality of the biscuits, the service, the establishment to make that a profitable business model.
--
Upon our arrival at the house we did rejoice. It is awesome, warm, has a pool and is all around pretty brilliant.
Great times were had this day. With that I bid you good night. More to come soon.
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1 comment:
Awesome!
Don't keep your audience waiting too long for part 4
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