This Denny's was not a place I ended up by choice, but rather, by fate.
It was a rainy Friday night, I was driving home from Kansas City. I was visiting my elderly grandmother, but that's besides the point. I was approximately 50 miles from home when I noticed my gas light come on. According to outdated gps there wouldn't be another gas station for miles. My heart beat loud in my ears, my electric blue 1989 Ford Aerostar wasn't what she once used to be, I would only make it approximately 14 miles before my girl ran out of steam. I gritted my teeth and willed my baby to keep chugging but as soon as i heard the engine sputter, I knew her time had run out.
So I sat there, on the now cold polyester seat, contemplating my next move. Head buried in my hands, I noticed a glimmer of neon light penetrate through my phalanges. I glanced up. "Denny's". They say at the end of one's life, there is a light and at the end of a so-called tunnel. Well the light at the of my 1989 Ford Aerostar's tunnel just happened to be a fluorescent red and yellow Denny's sign. My baby died for my salvation, my very own Jesus Christ. I couldn't be more thankful.
Stepping out of my chariot and approaching the Denny's that was cleverly placed within a gas station, I thought to myself, "this is too good to be true". Grasping the handle of the cold metal door, I pulled and was instantly greeted with a gust of breakfast smell. "Seat yourself." I was relatively annoyed with this because after my journey and my strife, I just wanted to feel again and the aid of a tired greeter was exactly what would do it for me. I began walking down the aisles, I chose a small booth with ripped seats. The kind of situation those crafty moms would describe as having "character". I sighed and sat down. After about 10 minutes of basking in my own sadness, your typical diner waitress approached me. " What can I get you?" jeeze, that seemed a little forward. I did just deal with the death of a loved one after all. I looked her right in her blue eyeshadowed rimmed eyes, "I'll take an All American Slam and a water." Although I only have been to Denny's a handful of times prior to this experience, I know my order because it reminds me of playing catch with Daddy in the front yard of our house on 8th street. As I sat there, awaiting my All American Slam I smelled something in the air. Unmistakably that smell was testosterone and upon further inspection, I realized it belonged to the booth across the room filled with screeching teenage boys. I chose to ignore the banshees since I could see the blue eyeshadowed waitress approaching me with a tray of food. As she got closer I realized that what she was carrying was in fact not an All American Slam but rather a Grand Slam Slugger. "Rookie mistake," I thought to myself but then I remembered her blue eyeshadow and the faint smell of cigarettes that radiated off of her. It was obvious she'd been working the Denny's diner circuit for awhile so it prompted me to question the integrity of this mistake. I digressed and accepted the fraudulent meal reluctantly. Eventually after choking down my meal along with the memories of Daddy and I, it was time for me to leave. As the blue eyeshadowed waitress took my payment, I glanced out of the dirty denny's window and at my beauty sitting in the horizon, defeated. I made way to the door but then I stopped. As the cool and rainy night air kissed my cheeks, my girl and I's memories flashed through my head like a 4th grader's mediocre power point assignment. I tipped my cap to her and bid farewell, then I started walking in the other direction. read more