Today, as I was driving past Bob Evans, I noticed that the parking lot seemed unusually full for a Friday afternoon. I then looked at the clock and noticed that it was 4:15 and my confusion was cleared.
I also noticed today that my downstairs neighbor has tried to remove the Fred Thompson sticker from his car's bumper. There's still a dash of bold blue ovally sticker left on the white bumper, though. I'm not sure of its meaning. It could be that Fred Thompson refused to be removed from this man's car and conscience. Or it could be that my neighbor only half-heartedly tried to erase his enthusiasm for the Fred Thompson campaign.
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Unfortunately, we live near Dayton's, a local restaurant that has a similar clientele as Bobby Evan's. So, on occasion (several times a week), I am almost hit by the old folks trying to pull in and out of the Dayton's parking lot.
True Story: We could see THE Bob Evan's from our practice field at band camp. It was shining in it's down-home-cookin'-much-tastier-than-cafeteria-food glory on a hill above the field. Would that University of Ri-oh Grande served Bobby's in its cafeteria.
True Story: I lost my contact lens on that same field at band camp. I was certain that Ma was going to kill me, since we had just gotten our first pair of contact lenses a few weeks before.
Dayton's, isn't that the place with the really good pie? If so, then I think that the old-person stampede is justifiable. It's not like your car hasn't withstood worse.
Yep, Dayton's has good pie, but the selection is sometimes limited.
True Story: Remember how we had to walk a mile to get to our practice field? Thanks Ri-oh Grande for catering to the big flashy high school bands. I bet the lunch ladies were like, "Here comes the raggedly SE band. Let's get the mystery meat out and put away the Bobby Evan's dinners."
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