On Thursday, Day 5,
we left Asheville
and drove to Virginia
so Mr. Hawthorne could visit with his Mommie.
Friday morning we went out for breakfast.
That's my truck in the reflection.
As you must know by now,
Mr. Hawthorne spares no expense
when taking me out to dine.
Breakfast Friday morning was no exception.
Our venue was
McMillan's Family Restaurant,
known to the regulars as Hank's.
... and escorted me in to this.
Oh wait, there's another door.
Fresh roses adorned the counter.
We were warmly greeted
(This is the South.)
and seated
and each brought a steaming cuppa Joe.
I got my unsweetened ice tea
with 5 pieces of lemon.
I noticed Mr. Hawthorne
becoming increasingly agitated
so I turned around and immediately recognized
the source of his distress.
The coke clock was askew.
Mr. Hawthorne can be quite anal about these things.
As a matter of fact,
I regularly go through the house
and tilt my picture frames just to mess with him.
I used to have a Buick with a hood ornament.
Whenever I knew he'd be driving that car,
I would always turn the ornament just slightly.
He'd be driving down the road
and notice the errant ornament
and would immediately have to pull over
and adjust the wayward decoration.
Ahhhh.
Good times.
I offered to switch seats
but he said he'd just stare at the table.
The service is excellent.
Within minutes,
our plates arrived.
I had a sunny-side up egg,
bacon, and hash browns.
Mr. Hawthorne's 93-year old step father, Stonehenge,
was there and joined us at our table.
He was telling us the story about
one of his renters who was behind in her payments,
although she had money to take vacations.
He showed up to demand payment
and the renter told him
she knew her rights,
blah, blah, blah,
yada, yada, yada.
Stonehenge replied,
"You know I carry a 38 in my pocket.
If you're not outta here by noon Friday
Imonna show it to you."
When he returned Friday,
she was gone.
As if to drive home his point,
Stonehenge pulled out his Smith & Wesson
to show it to us.
As if we didn't believe he was packin' heat.
I was scrambling to get a picture,
but just got him tucking it back in his pocket.
I hate it when I miss the moment.
Mr. H. fondly recalled his misspent youth.
He'd drive in here with his black 1963 Ford Galaxy
with a 39o cubic engine,
all jacked up in the ass,
with a Hurst floor shifter.
He'd back up against the back wall
with all the others
showing off their muscle cars.
Most of the time carrying hunting rifles
and shotguns in the trunk.
And smoking their Marlboro cigs
for 32 cents a pack.
He ran with the cool crowd.
I like how under the heading of side orders, the hash browns are $!.40. Gotta love the proofreading.
ReplyDeleteAnd isn't it great how some of the best places are the least pretentious?
ReplyDeleteRosie...you are too funny!
ReplyDeleteWe have a place here called Phil's Diner. Total dive, but good food, huge portions, and dirt cheap prices. It's in danger of being torn down to make way for new parts of Norfolk General Hospitalville, but so far, he has held out.
ReplyDeleteAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA Mr. Hawthorne
ReplyDeleteThat was a fun read.. The restaurant almost looks like a movie scene. Missed you Rosie.
ReplyDeleteDaHa, You're up too late. Go to bed.
ReplyDelete