We were trying to drive to Macon, Georgia, for reasons I won’t go into. Notice how things never seem to go right when you are trying to get somewhere? We were only a few miles down the road when Honey remembered he forgot something — then he wasn’t sure.
“Let’s stop and check — NO, not here!” as he started to pull off the side of the Interstate. We would never get back on the highway as fast as the traffic was flowing. We circled the cloverleaf on exit ramps until I was dizzy. Finally, we stopped on the side of a less busy highway, and he found that he had his stuff after all. End of that story.
Did you know you can drive from Nashville to Macon, GA in 4 hours if you set the cruise control on 70 mph and don’t stop to eat or go the bathroom? Neither did I, but I do now.
When we arrived, we were hungry, but couldn’t find anywhere to eat. Our hotel was in town and the restaurants had all closed after lunch. Apparently at 5:00 p.m. in a small town, they roll up the streets and go home. We found out later that we need to eat early and remember to reset our watches to eastern standard time.
Our GPS didn’t seem to work right. Macon has a lot of very strange U turns. Instead of left turns you go past where you want to go and make a U turn. The GPS fell in love with U turns and we were going in circles again. How can you get lost in a place as small as Macon? Finally, we just quit listening to the GPS and used our eyes. I think the GPS is still there somewhere making U turns.
Finally, we found a cute little restaurant that appeared to have the lights on. We had to circle the block and check again to be sure. I looked it up on my smart phone. Where the average price should be, it said $$$$. But I was starving, so we decided to eat there anyhow before they also closed.
Honey was wearing shorts, as usual. “I may not be dressed for an expensive place,” he said. To make matters worse, a man in a suit and a lady in heels shot by us and went in. On the door was a sign, “Proper attire required.” Macon is a city of quaint little shops and southern charm. I couldn’t see a place in a small town with the streets rolled up turning down business, so we went in. They seated us at a table for two and didn’t blink an eye. Guess what? Other people were wearing shorts too.
Later when we got back to the hotel, my computer was still on the restaurant referral page where I had tried to find a restaurant. So, I clicked the review button and gave a review. Did you know I am now a self-proclaimed restaurant critic? My only previous review was a redneck barbecue joint, though.
“Tries to be fancy,” I said. “It is in an old area of town in a refurbished building. The food is very good. (It was.) and very overpriced (no kidding) and the service was very slow. It seems that slowness is a southern thing and expected. Some people actually liked the restaurant and gave it a five-star rating. They really should get out more.
The next morning I would woke up with a splitting headache. It was probably the glass of wine that I had with dinner. I’m not used to drinking wine. I really should get out more.
Copyright 2012 Sheila Moss