I’ve had this blog for about a year and a half now. Before that I had another blog. Before that I had LiveJournal. Before that I had a column in my college’s school newspaper. Before that I had…well, journals. But it wasn’t until these past eighteen months that I stopped mid-sentence and thought “I definitely need to blog this.”
Now friends and family wonder when they’re going to grace the pages of PCL, curious to see what stories took hold, what moments were impactful, what events eventful. It’s the life story of any blogger worth their salt…and I consider myself worth some salt. At least a packet or two of salt. Nothing high sodium.
So it was with this in mind that I entered Golden Corral on Saturday night. The Mister’s Dad is in the hospital right now and we were down visiting him in Toledo, Ohio. Now, for those of you in Toledo, I’m sorry. For those of you who don’t know Toledo, it’s interesting. For those of you who have been, you know what I’m talking about. Basically, Toledo is a melting pot of America. And as with all melting pots, sometimes you get a bitter taste in any given bite.
The Mister picked Golden Corral. There was no bartering with him. Apparently their marketing campaign worked on him and he was ready to try it out. We walked in to be greated by a long line of hungry patrons. And when people get hungry, they get interesting.
If Toledo, Ohio is the melting pot of America, Golden Corral is the spoon that stirs that pot.
First, a description of GC as some may not be familiar with it. It’s a large buffet-style restaurant that happens to serve steak as one of its buffet items. The food itself isn’t bad, it’s just the ambiance is less than desirable. And on a Saturday night, you’re bound to find crutons in the salad dressing you wanted to put on your salad. It’s just a given.
Now, let’s move on to the main course: the patrons. In front of us we had teenagers getting ready to attend a school dance. A formal school dance. Eating dinner at the Golden Corral. I wasn’t picky during my high school years, but I’d be damned if I let my date take me to GC for a pre-dance dinner. Damned, I tell you.
Then there were the pajama wearers. Apparently six thirty on a Saturday night is just too early to put on regular pants and make it down to the Corral. Instead, just hop on out of bed after your drunken stupor the night before and roll up on GC in your most tattered PJs. Go ahead, you wouldn’t be the only one.
I could talk about there being about a kajillion kids there. Kajillion. But that goes without saying at a buffet.
What doesn’t go without saying is the 80s style hair I was forced to endure. We’re talking big bangs. HUGE bangs. Stringy curls. Ringlets surrounding a face while the rest of the hair is slicked back into the tightest bun possible. Just an all out assault on any normal human being’s ability to stay sane.
As we stood in line, literally corralled into the place, I turned to The Mister and uttered the words he seems to be a bit apprehensive about lately. “This is just RIPE for a blog post,” I said. He cringed. I continued. “Look around. This place is just OOOZING with blog post material.”
The larger matter of it is how blogging changes you. How you look at your experiences with an eye towards memorializing them. I knew my cliff diving experience in Jamaica would be a blog post before I was sure that I would do it. I’ve drunk blogged. So it’s only fair that a disaster like Golden Corral would fit into this scheme of experiences.
I mean, come on…like I could even live through that and not blog it. I owe my readers that much.
What has been your “I’ve gotta blog this,” moments?
Speaking of Drop of Ink, there is only one week left for submissions. Check out the submission guidelines at http://dropofink.org/.
And again, I’m looking to expand my Facebook friendships. So if you’re interested in being my friend Facebook style, e-mail me at firstname.lastname@example.org.