Donut Diner

Finally, after gingerly crawling around town in my car, afraid it might expire at some inopportune time or place, I had my car looked at by a professional. The problem was -- happily -- an easy fix that they decided not to charge me for: that's right, free! Therefore, I figured that I should have my transmission tuned up at their business when winter break arrives, and I've a break from the piling work. The relief knowing that my car will not spontaneously kick the proverbial bucket has been positively immeasurable.

Yet, the transmission people needed a lot of time to look at my car and diagnose the problem. Therefore, I decided that I would walk the couple of blocks through the afternoon city to a small donut and coffee shop, and like a worried father, fret over the car while I did homework. The shop itself really is unassuming. The outside of it is dingy and grey, the inside is not much better with formica tables and harsh flourescent lights. However, I quickly discovered that the shop was a favorite hangout for people over the age of fifty. Many of the customers who came in seemed to know everything about the people behind the counter, and spent at least five minutes talking with them before they ordered anything. The analogy that seemed to fit was that this place is a teenage burger joint for retired, or near-retired, people. I felt extremely out of place, as the other patrons took turns taking silent note of me and what I was doing. Photographs taped to the wall near my table portrayed a group of the same people chatting it up at the very table I was occupying. Good Lord, I thought, I'm an invader.

The only other time I had this sort of feeling was, while on a brief vacation in New York City, a friend of mine and I decided to get hamburgers at 2:00 a.m. We figured that a particular Lebanese restaurant was our best bet. The shocked stares we got the moment we walked in was not unlike the hush that falls over a saloon when either the Sheriff or Bad Guys kick their way through the swinging doors in a Hollywood western. Eating there was probably not the best decision we ever made, but the experience was something we are not likely to forget anytime soon. Similarly, while I'm not sure I go back this dilapidated donut hovel, the feeling that I've somehow discovered the hidden hangout for the over fifty crowd is likely to leave an impression for at least few weeks.