How tired am I with the week of grad school plus having a
portfolio due?
I keep taking wrong turns, forgetting where I am going, and
then totally blanking out on why I am where I am.
And then there's the reading problem.
That's right, the reading problem. I am so frigging tired that letters are
jumbling themselves and changing on me.
The alphabet may have 26 letters, but I'm starting to wonder if maybe I
should watch Sesame Street to reacquaint myself with the American language.
One of the grocery stores where I shop is located in a strip
mall. There used to be a Brigham's Ice
Cream Shop two stores over from the grocery store,. It was like a Friendly's or an old HoJo's,
but in addition to specialties like grilled cheese, you also had a choice of New
England's own Brigham's ice cream flavors.
I am sorry even now to see that it closed. Brigham's is one of those
companies helping to keep our unstable northeast corner of the country viable
and employed.
But Brigham's is gone, replaced by Fari's Diner.
I have tried to do some research on Fari's Diner, but I only
get one semi-coherent review. It could
be a lovely place; I've no idea. It's my
understanding that it's closed by 2 p.m., and I don't get out of work until
2:45, making me not one of their target customers. Not really sure who is available 8-2 p.m.
every day to be their clientele, but blue-hairs come to mind.
Anyway, combine the name of the diner with my extreme
fatigue, and I misread the sign coming out from grocery shopping. See the sign, I re-read it several times, and
then I shake my head and try to read it one more time.
Why, for the love of all things reasonable, why why why
would anyone name their restaurant this?
What in the hell is the matter with people? Are they insane? Do they think they're being creative or cute
or clever?
Start with my bad eyesight, add in extreme fatigue from
prepping my portfolio, and mix it all together with a short attention
span. These are the conditions under
which I notice the sign for the first time while shopping. I stroll out, pushing my carriage full of
groceries, look up, and see:
"FART'S
DINER"
Holy shit. Literally
(and I mean that literally), holy effing shit.
Who in their right mind would eat at FART'S DINER? What do they serve? Baked beans?
Corn? Chili?
It takes me three rubbed-eye looks before I realize that the
giant T is really a giant I for FARI'S
DINER. It's all good; no one is
intentionally causing the patrons' gastric distress.
Fari's not FARTS, though I'm starting to wonder.
I know it's the exhaustion setting in, but how cool would it
be to have Fart's Diner, and they only serve gastronomically rejected
foods! Liver and onions would finally
have a home, Brussel spouts would find a place to shine, and, of course, FART'S
DINER is probably having a special on, oh, I dunno … beans?
No matter.
With a name like that, I'm not sure I'll ever venture any
closer to it than a whiff from the parking lot.
