Dad’s
Favorite Restaurant
I
forget the name of the place.
It
was between two tiny towns
in
rural Pennsylvania.
Dad
didn’t like crowds
so
it was his favorite spot,
since
it was usually empty.
There’s
a reason for that.
One
time I ordered a chef salad.
Long
after Mom and Dad were served,
we
got our waitresses attention
who
had disappeared in back
to
read a novel or something,
and
she said they were out of lettuce
so
Jimmy went to get some at the local market.
My
chef salad finally arrived,
fresh
lettuce soaked in French dressing
with
a few things sprinkled on top.
Mom
and Dad waited patiently
while
I ate the edible parts.
It
has since gone out of business.
I
wonder why.
Now,
when I’m eating out and the order’s slow,
I
say, “Jimmy must have gone out for the lettuce.”
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