There was little balance in the questionable diner we frequented growing up. One step into it’s fogged glass doors and onto it’s syrup laden floor was like a step into a different place and time. The off red bubbled back booths spoke of the flood of truckers, laborers, and modest families that came day in a day out, looking for something hot and edible. The linoleum faux marble tables were just uneven enough to give us a daunting challenge when it came to see who could stack the creamer cups the highest. This frustrating task was my generation’s dinner time cell phone addiction underneath the glow of the table’s very own jukebox filled with names like Merle, Willie, Johnny, and Patsy. Just beyond our line of sight was a glowing cigarette machine advertising glow sticks for a shockingly low $1.50 (this was before “sin” tax).
From our usual table, we could overhear the single stooled men swivel delighted with the dreams of cheap pie and hot coffee while they discussed the politics of the day. There were always a few, however, who would silently stew underneath worn and faded hats that were stitched with names like John Deere and Craftsman. Into this America I was raised.
Now, some 30 years later, I find myself looking for diners like this as a middle aged man grasping for a forgone youth. Sure, the red and white corporate breakfast restaurants are fine (I suppose), but I still miss the personality and heart of the sticky floors and deferred dreams. The yellow stained walls gone, painted over with a more corporate feel.
Many things look different now
Many meals taste differently
In many ways this world still exists, and in others it is pushed away in hopes of convenience. My mind goes back here often in nostalgic innocence, forgetting the harsh realities that worked behind the counter.
With one hand the past pushes us ahead, and with the other it holds us back.
Matt simon blog 