Nobody Reads This Page – “Dinner Theater”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(9-24)

 

 

Years ago, my friend Janis was a frequent companion for eating out around our tri-county area, something that I was too embarrassed to do alone. This habit began with trips to the Hong Kong King Buffet in Geneva, for Chinese cuisine. But eventually involved visits to the original location of Mary’s Diner, also in that city. And, the Waffle House in Austinburg, along with Taco Bell in Madison, plus Mr. Hero, in Chardon. None of these spots provided much drama while we enjoyed our meals. But eventually, she agreed to go out for a quick layover at the Steak ‘n Shake in Ashtabula.

 

Unwittingly, that random choice produced a situation that lingers in memory, to this day.

 

After feasting on burgers, fries, and thick, creamy milkshakes, we went outside to relax on the side lawn. My culinary companion wanted to smoke a cigarette. Something I resisted while she was traveling in my vehicle.

 

She sat cross-legged in the green grass, watching traffic roll down the hillside, toward Walmart. I rambled on about historical facts that related to casual restaurants with a nostalgic theme. Something that she let pass from one ear to the other, without paying attention. This contrast between my own interest in vintage trappings of our culture, and her numb indifference to the outside world, was very common. Like an old, married couple, I would often pontificate about various subjects, while she ignored everything I said.

 

But suddenly, a Dodge minivan slammed on its brakes, after following a small, Japanese car with an insufficient amount of space, in between. The automobiles nearly collided, while heading for megacenter bargains. Then, both of them stopped dead in the roadway.

 

The driver in front was a young, African-American fellow. He exclaimed disbelief over the person behind.

 

“Why were you up on my tail? We almost had an accident there, bitch!”

 

A redneck woman jumped out of the soccer-mom cruiser, with her hair gathered up in a red bandana. She was missing some teeth, and had a disposition one might expect from a Pitbull hound.

 

“DUMBASS! YOU SHOULD’VE BEEN MOVIN’ FASTER, DAMMIT! I AIN’T GOT TIME TO CRAWL ALONG LIKE SOMEBODY’S GRANDMA!”

 

In a surreal show of idiocy, she dropped the dreaded word most despised by polite, educated people who respect diversity and kinship. Something that no sane person would do anywhere, particularly in the metropolitan area often referred to as Trashtabula. Her foolhardy, racist screeching literally made me gasp.

 

Janis reacted differently, however. She altered her position to obtain a better view of this ensuing conflict, and lit another Camel Crush.

 

“Dinner and a show! How about that, Rodbert? Dinner and a show!”

 

I was trembling and anxious. For a brief instant, I wondered if some sort of assault might take place. A development that made my stomach ache, despite being satisfyingly full. But instead, the motorist in front simply shook his head, snorted, and reentered his bland, Oriental rattlebox.

 

The rural queen stood still for a moment, contemplating her abandonment. I guessed that she must have wanted to conclude the impulsive argument more forcefully. But good sense finally took over the brain cells that she had not already drowned in Busch beer or Budweiser.

 

The minivan left strips of rubber from its front wheels, upon leaving. I watched the muffler bounce freely, underneath. Its rusted tailpipe nearly dragged on the ground.

 

My friend seemed disappointed with the brevity of what we had witnessed. She stubbed out her coffin nail, and stood up with a huff of regret.

 

“So much for that shit! I thought we might see some real fireworks! Like WWE wrestling, you know? Dammit, now I’m bored again. I hate being bored!”

 

My belly was still quivering. While we drove back to her home by Lake Erie, she played games on her cell phone, as a distraction. I did not interrupt. Silence seemed a better strategy than trying to convince her that we had both been lucky. As were the participants in what we had witnessed.

 

Recently, I thought about this faded memory while sitting on my porch, with a cold beverage. A Ford Explorer from the Geauga County Sheriff’s Department passed by as I was quenching my thirst. Not an uncommon sight in our rural enclave, yet still something to be noted. It reappeared shortly afterward, rolling in the opposite direction. Then, I saw another cruiser following close behind. And another. And another!

 

In yonder days, the sight of law enforcement entering my living space would have been something to cause raised eyebrows, and tightened jowls. But after so many years of living in a blue-collar neighborhood, filled with earthy and resourceful citizens. I had developed thicker skin. All of us were hardened by such frequent bouts of crime and punishment, on full display. To see someone on our streets being led away in handcuffs, or wheeled out on an ambulance gurney, has sadly become too familiar for closer inspection.

 

Vacant homes abound. Stories of mayhem and injury, persist. Yet I keep drinking my Yuengling Amber Lager, as the deputies do their work.

 

It reminded me of another past event, when seeking a new house with my first wife, in Painesville. Sometime during the 1990’s. Another more urban district, with inhabitants subjected to viewing outbursts of rage and excess. When we took a tour of a property on the market, its owner did her best to describe the residence as safe and secure. Yet her son confessed that a nearby low-income housing development, just down the boulevard, was often wracked with violent incidents.

 

“I don’t let it bother me! Hell no! I just pull out a folding chair, and sit here watching from the front yard! It’s no-cost entertainment, I figure! Like getting a bonus if you buy this place!”

 

At the time, we took this as a caveat worth many nuggets of gold. I did not follow up with the real estate agent. We dropped the idea of leaving our condominium for a fixed dwelling, at least until better options arrived.

 

In modern times, I have grown more callused to these happenings. More content simply to exist in my own corner of the universe, and keep to myself. But now and then, life provides its own variety show, free of charge.

 

My cohort Janis would be thrilled to witness this change of heart.