Travelogue Part 11: Barks And Bites To Eat


Um, is my supper, like, supposed to be all totally up in flames, man?

You know how it is when you drive an hour or so up into another state to see an old friend from England who has lived here twenty-something years and you’re waiting at an outside table of a diner for another old friend of his and then your friend’s dog and a passing child have a little altercation that doesn’t result in bloodshed or mauling or the kid’s dad having a meltdown but some busybody fuckwit on another table decides it’s her business to turn a minor incident into a major fuckfest. You’ve all been there, right?

But have you also been there when that same busybody got in the face of the waitress of the diner who is not someone to mess about with on account of her having dangerousness as a middle name? Which results in the waitress saying the words ‘fuck’, ‘off’, ‘fuck’, ‘you’, and ‘I don’t give a fucking shit’ a lot. At which point the busybody leaves and another guy in the diner, a young fellah who had been chuckling away to himself, then tells you the busybody is his fruitcake neighbour who bought a speedometer like the cops have to see what speeds the young guy was cycling round their neighbourhood at on his bike

So began the reunion of a bunch of people who have not all been together in the same place for almost three decades. It got quieter after that, which was a blessing as crazy fuckass yelling makes it tricky to have conversations about what people have been up to the past million years and all that malarkey.

This all took place in Ann Arbor, Michigan, a place I had not visited before but instantly felt I could live in so long as I didn’t live on the same block as the crazy busybody. It’s a college town and reminded me of my home town back in England. And it had a bookshop I could have spent all day in if only I wasn’t with a bunch of friends who really didn’t want me to spend all day in a bloody bookshop for fuck’s sakes!

Memories shared can be cathartic moments and that’s how it was today. The diner’s food, I should add, was great but the restroom was a pile of steaming, sweating ass. We went to another place where I could get a cup o tea and their restroom was so nice I could have spent all day in there if only I wasn’t with a bunch of friends who’d already had to practically drag me out of a bookshop. Do they not know I am a pillock of the community?

In the evening, back in Holy Toledo we went to my favourite eatery in the city: Osaka, the hibachi bar. The food is awesome, the display of preparing the food on the grill which is part of your table is fun and fiery, and my friends seemed to think I had a thing for our waitress for some reason? Do they not know I’m a pillock of the community? And that I often repeat lame gags in my blog?

Tomorrow is my last full day here. I’ve already just shed a tear or two about this when I climbed into bed to write this post. Vacations end. If they didn’t they would be our everyday lives. I’d quite like my everyday life to be near these people and full of the experiences I’ve had this past couple of weeks. Can someone please fix that for me? I’d do it myself but I just started crying again.


About S

“an extraordinary repository of cultural knowledge”
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