Diner dinner

I caught a ride to town with the landlord today.  My tire had a flat a coupla weeks ago, so I had driven about 150 miles on the donut/spare which is much smaller than my other tires.  I parked it in my yard and there it's sat for the past week as I did not want to temp fate moreso.

So we go to town, to the tire place, all that.  Then she went off to work her part time shift and I went to the library (Elmore Leonard is my pick this time out), to the pharmacy (where the majority of the women who work there are pregnant), and then I met a friend for lunch at the local diner.

Now, I am closest to Pheba (pronounced "feeeeeebeeeeee") but when we say we going to town, we mean Starkville.  Starkville is home to Mississippi State University.  Those of us who are extremely found of the big ole city call it The Starkpatch and those of us who are a bit more cynical refer to it as Starkvegas.

It's a nice little place, big enough to have some good restaurants and stores and such, but small enough that you can cozy into town with the intimacy of knowing that rumors and gossip fly faster than camel crickets hop and become much more colorful with each retelling.  I feel at home here.  Well, as much as I feel at home anywhere.  Been living here longest I've lived any one place at any one time...going on 3 full years now!

So, our diner is about what you'd expect for a small town that's growing gradually.  We have the big rush at lunch-time.  Most every one orders the special of the day (catfish, meatloaf, hamburger steak, etc. and veggies like greens and beans) and washes it all down with sweet tea.  In and back out in less than half an hour, for most folks it works well.  Just as fast as tables empty, they fill with new customers, who push stacked plates to the edge and grab some napkins to wipe sticky circles left behind from the tall red or amber tinged plastic cups of bottomless tea.

There is a side room that is huge and actually can seat more than the front room.  But if you want to keep your finger on the pulse of the town, be seen and see who's to see...you sit in the front room, overlooking Main Street.  So, I don't rush, I know there is room.  I take my time, I am not worried about 1/2 hour lunch breaks and such.  I tip well if the waitstaff deserve it.  I don't demand service, I am in no big hurry, I can wait for my food.  Just get to me when you can.

So while I was waiting for my friend, I watched the good ole boys greet one another with handshakes, nods, and the two-finger salute/wave.  I listened to college students and tables of retired men alike debate our local sports, mostly focusing on college (foot)ball.  I read some.  But mostly, I observed the older couples shuffling in, the men holding the door for their ladies.  The women stepping to the side, letting him hone in on a table or booth.  There were no children today, no babies (ever, that I can recall), and a booth of four young women with loud gasps, breathless exclamations of astonishment, and faces that were in expressions of perpetual surprise.

There is a waitress (Joyce Palmer) there whom I thought was the owner, or at the very least the manager.  She definitely has seniority and carries some authority over the others.  She's a fixture while others come and go.  Most of the others defer to her, some seek her approval.  She's a nice woman to her customers, knows most of them well and serves with efficiency.

But, perhaps she takes her love for the place a bit too far...hey, if it works for her though, who am I to say?  There was a big write up in the local paper, featuring Palmer.  The framed article hangs on the back wall, heading towards the restrooms.

Basically, the story of Joyce and the Liar's Club goes like this...one of her customers proposed.  She accepted.  They got married at the diner, the next Saturday right after she worked the early shift.  THAT'S dedication.

I suspect she has a cot in the back...I see her every time I have ever been there.  And I have been there at various times, early, midday, late into the night...over the years.  It's open 24 hrs.  She is there always, watching over things as she moves about, taking orders and ringing up tickets.

Sometimes the truth makes a better story than fiction.

My friend and I had a wonderful lunch, catching up with each other.  I shared some stories of the past that kept her in laughter.  She made me feel glad to be able to celebrate my birthday with her.  It was great.