LUBY'S Thanksgiving lunch
____
It's time to stand in line outside LUBY'S cafeteria.
Last year, the queue went on and on like a TED monologue.
Hours posted claim 11 a.m. for the doors to open.
In front of me is a little old blue-haired lady with a walker.
Behind me is a tall Barbie-doll look-alike with millions of $ worth of plastic surgery. I'd say she's about 90 years old.
LUBY'S management decide to open a half hour early.
I ask the Ass. Mgr., "Felt sorry for us out here?"
Ass. Mgr.: "If customers drive up and see a crowd ahead of them, they give-up and go home."
I take this as a "Nope."
We shuffle our feet like convicts on a chain gang, stand in a slow-moving line with our tray and wrapped utensils.
The food array is colorful, festive, varied, and steaming hot!
Customers ahead of me are not quick to make choices--no sirree!
It's like they've been asked to select between styles of headstones and whether to go for the marble finish or the faux gloss composite.
I move by increments of pyramid inches.
I've watched slugs cross a sidewalk faster than this!
AT LAST!
I want the fried fish--but the guy ahead of me gets the last one.
I switch to fried chicken instead.
"Could I have cream gravy, please?"
A dollop is applied.
"Candied yams and dressing, please."
I grab a coffee cup and pump the thermos.
We slide along the metal rack to the register, pay, search for a remaining seat near the window.
I'm observing what appear to be shell-shocked seniors as they stare at their fork, overhear absolutely no conversations, and dab my mouth with the napkin now and then.
There's lots of meat on this chicken. (Vegans--don't read that last part.)
The side dishes are tasty. I quaff two cups of coffee and nibble on my cornbread.
The place is filling up fast.
Finally, I grab my hat, flouncy red scarf and leave.
As I exit, I'm not surprised to see at least a hundred people in line outside and more soon to follow.
Who wants to cook these days?
Not me.