On our way back from Mississippi, we stopped for supper at the Throwed Roll Restaurant. Actually, its name is Lambert's Cafe I, in Sikeston, Missouri. This was only the second time I've been there, but this time it was not so pleasing.
Oh, the food was still great. But the service was not as cheerful. We knew there would be a wait, because we arrived at 6:10 on a Friday evening. Lucky for us, we found a parking spot and got inside just before a big ol' line formed behind us. Also lucky for us, there were no tour buses of old people. We had to wait a little bit, because we had a party of 5. They kept asking for 4 or less. Roomie said quietly each time, "Darn me." We did not hold his presence against him. We passed the time by playing those quarter-pusher games courtesy of Driver H's pockets, and pointing to pictures of mules and horse's behinds, saying, "There's Dad's picture."
Once we were seated, we couldn't wait to get our hands on some throwed rolls. Driver H and I had skipped lunch because the schedule was not conducive to our appetites. #1 and Roomie were starved because, well, they're 15-year-old boys. The Pony would rather eat any form of bread than Kobe beef or caviar (well, the same can be said for many people, I guess).
The Roll Thrower looked to be about 17 or 18. He was not cheerful. Now, if I had a job where all I had to do was wheel a cart of fresh-baked rolls that people were dying for, and toss them through the air, I think I could manage a smile. Not this dude. He was apparently trying to earn a Cy Young Award, because he fired those rolls like he was pitching in the 7th game of the world series. He threw them so hard, they broke apart when caught. The Pony tried to grab one, and it smacked his hands and bounced off, leaving a sound like when Farmer H whacked that rooster right in the face with a blue plastic snow shovel.
Driver H, Roomie, #1, and The Pony all got a roll before me. Two of them ended up on the floor beside the table, due to a miscalculation from Roll Thrower, who overshot the table across the aisle from us. Finally, Driver H and Roomie tussled over a thrown roll, and by the time they came up with it, it had kind of disintegrated like state fair cotton candy in a drizzle. Did it bother me that they both had pawed at it and spread their hand cooties? Not a bit. I gratefully accepted their offering. I would have eaten a roll off the floor at that point.
To be continued tomorrow. It's time for Pretty Little Liars, my new addiction.