Like this:

Nothing quite goes with Christmas shopping like a few beers in the old belly. Unfortunately, the land we ventured to for shopping only had chain restaurants…definitely not the type of joints we typically frequent; however, the beer was calling. The oddity is that not only did we end up in a chain restaurant, but we also ended up in a steak house of all places. Not quite the eatery you’d expect to find a vegan in, eh?

Steve and I slowly tipped our way into Logan’s Roadhouse to belly up to the bar and grab a pint or two. This is one of those strange country-type eateries where they toss peanut hulls on the ground. There’s nothing like being a genuine slob while out in public, right? Crunch crunch crunch…as we walked through the door-way…..weird.

Steve and I sat at the bar and anxiously awaited for the ‘tender to offer us a cold one. While we giggled about the irony of being in a steakhouse, we spoke intellectually about the desire to throw our peanut shells on the floor. “It’s sort of strange, isn’t it?” I said. Steve agreed and then began to collect a small pile of nut covers on the bar in front of him.  “You can’t do it, can you?” “No,” he replied. I suddenly felt the urge to be completely unruly and threw a few shells on the ground.  It’s not like it felt good or anything…the little rebel inside me despised the fact that this was considered normal behavior.

As we played with the bucket of peanuts, the bartender came over and said, “I’ll be right with you guys, okay?” As if we had a say in the matter. “No…really…it’s not okay. We’ve been waiting for ten minutes already and these peanuts are stale!”  Oh…if I only had the courage to be that vocal. Steve and I began to look around and realized that Mr. Bartender himself was running the entire show at Logan’s.  The poor thing had to fill up the peanut troughs, deliver dinners, take drink orders and run the cash register.  I still wasn’t feeling bad for him quite yet though…mainly because my mouth had been completely sucked dry of all saliva from those damn peanuts. “Beer please!”

After another five minutes or so, we were finally asked what sort of beverages we would like to consume. As soon as they were delivered, I said “We’ll take our tab too.”  We certainly couldn’t wait around another hour just to get the check. On our way out, we shuffled our feet like little kids across the peanut-laden floor. Needless to say, we won’t be returning to this laid-back disaster of a joint.

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