The other day at Denny’s they offered unto us free Grand
Slam Breakfasts. I normally do not
eat at Denny’s. It is what I am
talking about when I say, “I did things at university that I am not proud
of.” Contrary to popular belief
and my own stringent mythology I do have a concept of shame. I didn’t exercise it that day, I knew
what a free meal at Denny’s would draw and I wasn’t going to miss it.
I went with my mother, who was hard to get out of the
house. I thought we were going at
seven and we didn’t leave until 10:00, we got there at 10:15 and sat at
10:45. When we arrived I was
excited to see a full parking lot; there were so many jalopies I knew I had hit
the jackpot. We didn’t wait long
to be seated or to find a parking space.
The crowd was marvelous and vulgar. There was a parade of mullets and then an exhibit of prison
tattoos. I was so disappointed
that I couldn’t take pictures.
The most comical part was my mother. She sat, demure, on a bench and worked
on her knitting. She took compliments
on her coach purse and politely carried a conversation with the person sharing
the bench. I think she was the
only person there who had bathed in the last twenty-four hours. I had not because my goal was to fit in
with the other patrons. I would
have had to stop bathing a week ago to achieve that but I looked the part at
least.
If I had to list the highlight of the visit it would have
been a tie between when someone put a cigarette out in their pancakes and
continued to eat them or when a mulleted person in a Sarah Palin t-shirt was
called to their table but with the last name of professor I had in
college. This professor would only
appear in public in a mullet and Sarah Palin t-shirt as a joke. My mother said, “Did she call ‘Jewett’
and someone with a mullet and a Palin shirt follow her? I can see her doing that, as a joke or
on Halloween.” This was so traumatizing that my mother took my camera and snapped off a picture. We couldn’t get Sarah Palin in but we
got the mullet and that’s enough to prove it happened. It dominated our conversation because
it was incongruent with reality. I wanted to confront them, ask them if they were for serious, if it was really a joke. I decided against it: cold pancakes = sad panda. My mother and I concluded that we needed to burn down our house and move
someplace better than this bizarre town.
I also have to applaud Denny’s: they handed out enough food
to feed half of India to the people of our town in little to no time. It was a disgusting amount of
food. I was horrified my food was
touching but I ate it anyway.
Gluttony would be my favorite deadly sin if Sloth weren’t so much fun
and so easy. I endeavored to eat
all of the food but I could not. I
ate more than I should have but I felt if I didn’t eat myself sick that I
wouldn’t get the full experience of the free Denny’s.
While
I was furtively stuffing my face with the food I was reminded of a conversation
about this free meal with my friend from University, Amy. She reminded me that we never paid at
Denny’s, not once in the years we were there. Nicole was always with us and she never let anyone pay
because we never had a chance. I
am not really sure why they were giving away free food: their service is so
terrible that I have never seen someone pay for their food in the first
place. Maybe they were just saving
themselves a step, saving the manager the heartache of going through the
motions of apologizing. No matter
the motive the result was what I wanted.
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