Not Eating Good in the Neighborhood

Our three-horse town is really moving on up. To the east side. We finally got a piece of the pie.

The apple pie.

Apple. As in Applebee's.

We used to have an Applebee's years ago. I really loved their fried chicken salad. Applebee's honey mustard dressing was right up there with O'Charley's. And I know my honey mustard.

I went on a date at Applebee's once in high school, and I think drinking the honey mustard from the little dressing bowl was one of the reasons he didn't call me back.

Oh, and he was an ass.

My mother and a friend were once sitting at the old Applebee's when three large fellows got into an altercation and somehow ended up on top of their table. They smashed my mama's ribs to pieces. Not her actual ribs, but her BBQ ribs. The place shut down shortly after because it seems that that my mother wasn't the only one to witness such a debacle in that Applebee's.

I usually think of these kinds of things happening at a biker bar on the south side of the tracks. Some place called "Rebel Hog's" or "Leather and Lace", but not at Applebee's.

I've digressed.

So when I saw that the old Blockbuster building was being transformed into an Applebee's, I was stoked. I've really missed that honey mustard.

Let's back up for a moment. Yes, I said the old Blockbuster building. When the 'buster went out of biz a while back, I was sure that the place would turn into an H & R Block or something strip mall-ish. Not a restaurant. The building doesn't really scream, "come eat here."

That's pretty much what it looks like.

But, we decided to give it a try anyway.

As we walked into the store restaurant, I saw this.

Please look closely. She tried to conceal the obscenities with permanent marker, but it really didn't help. Anyway, I should have known that this would have been an indication of the type of people frequenting the Applebee's.

When we entered, memories of Blockbuster flooded my mind.

When life mate and I were dating so long ago, we went to the Blockbuster at least twice a week. You remember those days, don't you? Renting a movie with your new beau, curling up on the couch, making out to Castaway. Because plane crashes, an incredibly hairy Tom Hanks and a volleyball with eyes are all extremely sexual things. 

"Awwwww, the Nintendo games used to be there," I pointed to the back wall as a tear formed in my eye.

"Remember those ten day rentals?" Husband took my hand into his.

"Remember that really rude gay guy that worked here?  Man, he hated you," I leaned my head on hub's shoulder as I thought about Paul threatening to send my husband's late fees to a collection agency.

"I think we still have Goodfellas on VHS. That almost ruined my credit," he wiped a tear from his cheek.

Man, we had some good times in that Blockbuster.

I've digressed again.

Anyway, the Applebee's was set up terribly. It was crowded. It was hot. And all those Blockbuster store front windows made it brighter n' hell. It wasn't cozy. It smelled of feet. And I was ready to leave as soon as we stepped inside.

And lets just say that the car out front could have belonged to any number of women in there. There were some really shady, hard-core looking broads sucking down hard liquor and shoving meat into their jowls.

After waiting for a table for nearly an hour, we were placed right in front of the windows, where I was tempted to pull out my sunglasses. Edward Cullen could not, I repeat, COULD NOT, dine here.

A lady at the table beside us was pissed. She'd found a hair on her food. Not "in" it, but "on" it, as in a big ass ponytail was just lying right on top of the fish fillet. We watched as a slew of waitresses and managers came to console her and try to redeem the situation.

She used her hand to shield her eyes from the sun, and she told them all, "I'm no longer hungry."

Another indication to run.

We sat there for freaking ever without anyone taking our drink order. The sun beating through the windows had me all parched and stuff. Those windows! Look at the Blockbuster photo above! That's a lot of dang windows!!!

My husband is a big fan of the show "Bar Rescue." Every time we go out to eat, he times how long it takes for us to receive service. He's really an expert on bar and restaurant management now that he falls asleep to this show each night.

He was becoming extremely pissed and said we were leaving if we hadn't been served in thirty seconds. I began gathering up the kids when the waitress arrived. Thankfully, the car out front didn't belong to her. She was super nice, so I overlooked the wait time, the feet smell, and the sunburn that I was receiving.

The kid dropped his crayon. I bent down to pick it up and found a cigarette butt on the floor. A yellow butt at that. Probably a Doral.

Since the place had only been open for a week, I assume this butt belonged to a construction worker or something. I just hope one of those big fellows that crushed my mama's ribs wasn't back and burning one right in the middle of Applebee's.

However, it was nice and dark under the table. I thought maybe I should hide under there, just me and the Doral, until it was time to leave.

Our sweet tea finally arrived. It tasted like ass.

The cups were those red plastic ones like you had in the cafeteria in high school.

You know, cheap China-made shit.

The waitress came back and we told her our sweet tea tasted like ass.

"How does it taste?" she asked.

"Like ass," I said. "I've never tasted ass, but I can only imagine that if I did taste ass, it would taste just like this sweet tea."

She brought us some Dr. Peppers to wash the taste of ass from our mouths.

The long coveted fried chicken salad with honey mustard arrived.

On a plate.

I don' tknow much, but I know that salad belongs in a bowl.

Not on a plate.

Every time I tried to poke the lettuce with my fork, it slid off the plate. There were no bowl sides to catch anything.

I looked like I'd never eaten before as I chased a roma tomato around my plate, trying to keep it from sliding onto the scorching hot table.

Did I mention that the honey mustard tasted like water mustard?

If I took a cup of water and squirted mustard in it and then ate it, my taste buds would think I was back at Applebee's.

My husband ordered some kind of shrimp linguine thingy.

He said it tasted like those "frozen meals for overweight women."

I think he meant "Lean Cuisine."

I've eaten my share of Lean Cuisines.

But never in a Blockbuster.

A manager, which appeared to be high on something (and I ain't talking life), came by to check on us.

"How is everything?" he asked.

"I smell feet, I'm hotter than hell's house cat, I may have gotten skin cancer from the UV rays, the sweet tea tasted like ass, there's a cigarette butt on the floor, and you just fed my tall and skinny husband a Lean Cuisine. How the hell do you think it was?" I said.

No, I didn't.

I'm so freaking nice that I nodded and said everything was fine, as I pinched my husband's leg beneath the table so that he'd keep his incredibly outspoken mouth shut.

I'm no Jamaican fortune teller named Miss Cleo, but I know one damn thing.

The Applebee's in Podunk, Tennessee won't be here in a month.

No, no, no. It was one of my top 27 worst dining experiences ever.

I think the building would be perfect as a movie mega-kiosk.

Oh, that would be a Blockbuster. Needless to say, we were not eating good in the neighborhood. We were eating bad in the Blockbuster.