AGAIN!!! So, I drove to Ann Arbor today for a Jefferson Grizzard show at The Ark tomorrow night; a world-renown listening venue with intimate arena seating for 400. Should be a GREAT show! I discovered I’m in a senior citizen room here at the hotel. The bathroom has more bars than San Quinton! But it wasn’t the bars on the wall that gave it away; it was the “throne” in the bathroom. Would someone PLEASE tell me why the makers of the porcelain convenience think senior citizens need a commode so tall that it requires a step-stool just to mount it?? My feet were practically dangling in mid-air. I felt like I was sitting on a chair lift in Vail. Thank God, there is good toilet paper, two-ply, strong and sturdy. I probably could have used it as a support line had I fallen from the dizzying altitude! I had taken my Bible in for a little read… (I don’t think Jesus minds.) There was a shower chair by the wall; I dragged it over to place my King James there when I was finished… well, finished with that portion of the visit. The thing was so low I practically had to drop Peter and James and John to keep from toppling from where I was perched! I think height in a shower chair would be more important than a toilet set. Oh how I dread the nursing home. I’m NOT going to be happy. So I finished and washed up and walked to the lobby to ask the less-than-friendly teenager what kind of restaurants were close, other than the pizza places that were advertised in the guest services directory located in the room. She was nonplussed. “Uh, what do you want?” “Anything were I can have a glass of wine and sit down.” “Well, there’s a IHOP across the street.” “Hmm, not exactly what I was looking for.” “There’s a good pizza place about a mile away.” “I’ll just drive for a while.” Apparently ten hours hadn’t been quite enough yet. I pulled out of the portico, took a right out of the hotel property, drove about 200 feet and discovered a Red Lobster right there. I guess the teenager never drives in that direction when she leaves the hotel. Now Red Lobster is certainly NOT my favorite but I had been on the road since eight this morning, was tired and just wanted a decent meal and get back to the room. I was seated promptly and approached by a woman server who asked for my drink order. Ten minutes later, another woman brought my Corona and asked if I wanted to see a menu. I started to tell her I had memorized the Red Lobster menu and didn’t need it. “Thank you—that would be nice.” TWENTY minutes later, yet a third child arrived with a menu and asked if I’d like to order an appetizer. “Well, if you’ll give me a minute, I might.” “Take your time.” And with that she left. About ten more minutes passed and ANOTHER server approached the table with her book in her hand. Now I was nonplussed. “What is this, Fruit Basket Turnover?” “What do you mean?” “You’re the fourth person who has come to my table.” “REALLY??” “Really. Can I have the special, the Cajun trout?” “Sure, what sides would you like?” “Give me a Caesar salad and some asparagus.” “You get another one.” “Another one?” “Yes three.” “Hmm, I don’t really know, uh, okay, just give me two orders of the asparagus.” She left; I finished my beer and sat there staring at the walls for nearly twenty minutes. The server returned and announced that they were out of the trout and did I want something else… “Well, I am hungry, seeing as how I’ve already been here nearly an hour and haven’t had anything since my Raisin Bran at six this morning in Nashville.” If you are any other place in the world other than Tennessee, it’s nearly ALWAYS the wrong thing to announce that you are from Nashville. Half the population thinks Nashville and Memphis are synonymous; the other half wants to be a country star! “OH, YOU’RE FROM NASHVILLE! DO YOU KNOW DOLLY?” “We’ve met.” “What’s she like?” “She’s blond. She’s rich. And she’s stacked. Do you have any Flounder?” “Let me see.” She started off and I hollered after her. “COME BACK HERE! Is there anything on this menu that you KNOW you have without going to the kitchen?” “We have tilapia.” “Can I get it blackened?” “Well, let me see…” Again she started off and again I hollered, “NEVER MIND! Just bring it. I don’t care if it’s raw, just bring it.” “What do you want with it?” “I’ll just have what I was going to have with the trout.” “Okay.” And with that she left. …and time passed, AGAIN! She came back without my salad but announced that I couldn’t have three sides with the tilapia. “Wait, I could have three with the trout but not the tilapia?” “Yes sir.” “I’m too tired to ask why and WAY too hungry for the discussion. Fine, just bring something, ANYTHING!” The tilapia was good, the asparagus cooked nigh onto perfect and I wish I had just one more beer… but it’s snowing now, cold outside and the bed is calling. I think I’m going to move the mattress from the other bed into the bathroom, just in case I have to make another visit in the night… and fall. It’s a long way to the tile floor.
Posted on: Fri, 28 Mar 2014 02:38:54 +0000
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