Even along Henry through Norton Shores, Michigan, no one plows the
sidewalks near corner of Broadway in Henry. Broadway had a shoulder,
plowed and free from cars. On Henry, walkers had to walk in the lane.
Traffic was slow, and headlights proceeding north in the east most
lane turned into the Meijers supermarket lot or into the party store
lot. I kept an eye on the headlights and prepared to dash into a
snowdrift. I couldn't eat at the Taco Bell because drive-ins only serve cars. I
once took a long walk with my then wife into the town of Northville,
MI, we ordered a pizza from the Dominos Pizza downtown and caught a
ride home in car driven by the delivery driver. As I walked by the Mr.
Scribs lot, I studied the delivery fleet and considered my approach.
Would a driver consider it Would it be out of range How big a tip
would it require. Did I really want a pizza for dinner and breakfast I
knew if I asked at counter, I was likely to hear, "We can't take
passengers on deliveries. Insurance regulations, you know". So I kept
walking to Handsome Henry's, pine trees with blue Christmas lights
cheering me up. Handsome Henry's stay open until Midnights on Sunday, and I counted
three cars in the backlot. Management must make staff park in a lot
across Henry. Inside, I turned six heads, all of them waitresses
congregating at bar's end following a forty person party's departure.
One of the women, her hair in ringlets, gave me the news, sad that it
wasn't her table. I chose the bar and I spotted the chalkboard advertising the bar rail
prime rib special, a mere ten bucks. Handsome Henry's is connected to
Hobo's of North Muskegon, which once offered a ten dollar steak at the
bar until it was jacked up to twelve. I was surprised to see Irish
Festival stout on the tap, but the house had snapped up all the unused
kegs from Irish Festival and was down to the last one. So I ordered a
pint from my bartender and asked for the prime rib. She was telling me a story of a very particular customer who gave her
step by step instructions as she made his martini, and it took ten
minutes. First, the martini glass had to be chilled in the walk in
freezer. But that customer she left behind when she came to work at
Handsome Henry's, after six years. That restaurant had fallen into a
malaise, and she had to make a living as she finished a program in
medical office management and raised three children. Her son was just
old enough to not hold her hand in public anymore. He would take hold
of his little sister's hand, though. Lately, that's a feature of
restaurant scene in Muskegon; all the great waitresses and bartenders
showing up for day one of the new joint in town. I hadn't drank more than an inch of my pint when my prime rib showed
up, run over by a man in a white chef's tunic. It was well seasoned,
marbled, but disappointingly cold. I didn't feel like complaining. I
didn't want a fuss and a free meal again, and that's because it
happens too often. So I ate and drank and looked for character. A fellow to my left four stools was sketching up a storm in a lab
book. He was designing a wind turbine as he waited for his girlfriend
to finish up sidework. He didn't have to wait too long and I had no
question why he came home for weekends from Western Michigan
University in Kalamazoo. A birthday party of twenty charged in through the doors at 11:30 PM, a
good token for the establishment. I started to contemplate my route
home. Walking to Henry Street bridge and then taking shortcut across
Mona Lake sounded mad. In the old days, I could meet a waitress for
drinks and catch a ride home after. Or a patron. Tonight, I rung up
BT's. BT's had a flier on window of Bea and Arthurs advertising "anywhere,
anytime" rides within Muskegon for five dollars flat. So I tried the
number. A woman picked up and didn't answer "BT's!" I explained I was
looking a ride. She passed phone to a man, who explained, "My car's
messed up for a few days. But call and get with me later." This
reminded me of walking into a barber shop in Muskegon Heights that
advertised walk in service and shaves. Barber complimented my coat and
apologized. He wasn't set up for shaves right then. He gave me his
card and asked me to "get with him later." Okay, then, I shall. A
young man was getting "did" for Saturday evening. A man complimented
him, "You are coming
into fruition, young man!"
So I called my old reliable, but don't call them Port City Cab
anymore. That's Port City Limo now, thank you very much. Says so on
the cab window, a fresh decal. The dispatcher had a blue van there in
minutes, lots of cabs awaiting the 2 AM rush. Unusually, my cabbie
didn't offer much conversation, but I did learn he had been
temporarily laid of from his job at a small foundry and was hustling
in a cab for a few weeks. He charged me 7 at my door, and I tipped him
one.
sidewalks near corner of Broadway in Henry. Broadway had a shoulder,
plowed and free from cars. On Henry, walkers had to walk in the lane.
Traffic was slow, and headlights proceeding north in the east most
lane turned into the Meijers supermarket lot or into the party store
lot. I kept an eye on the headlights and prepared to dash into a
snowdrift. I couldn't eat at the Taco Bell because drive-ins only serve cars. I
once took a long walk with my then wife into the town of Northville,
MI, we ordered a pizza from the Dominos Pizza downtown and caught a
ride home in car driven by the delivery driver. As I walked by the Mr.
Scribs lot, I studied the delivery fleet and considered my approach.
Would a driver consider it Would it be out of range How big a tip
would it require. Did I really want a pizza for dinner and breakfast I
knew if I asked at counter, I was likely to hear, "We can't take
passengers on deliveries. Insurance regulations, you know". So I kept
walking to Handsome Henry's, pine trees with blue Christmas lights
cheering me up. Handsome Henry's stay open until Midnights on Sunday, and I counted
three cars in the backlot. Management must make staff park in a lot
across Henry. Inside, I turned six heads, all of them waitresses
congregating at bar's end following a forty person party's departure.
One of the women, her hair in ringlets, gave me the news, sad that it
wasn't her table. I chose the bar and I spotted the chalkboard advertising the bar rail
prime rib special, a mere ten bucks. Handsome Henry's is connected to
Hobo's of North Muskegon, which once offered a ten dollar steak at the
bar until it was jacked up to twelve. I was surprised to see Irish
Festival stout on the tap, but the house had snapped up all the unused
kegs from Irish Festival and was down to the last one. So I ordered a
pint from my bartender and asked for the prime rib. She was telling me a story of a very particular customer who gave her
step by step instructions as she made his martini, and it took ten
minutes. First, the martini glass had to be chilled in the walk in
freezer. But that customer she left behind when she came to work at
Handsome Henry's, after six years. That restaurant had fallen into a
malaise, and she had to make a living as she finished a program in
medical office management and raised three children. Her son was just
old enough to not hold her hand in public anymore. He would take hold
of his little sister's hand, though. Lately, that's a feature of
restaurant scene in Muskegon; all the great waitresses and bartenders
showing up for day one of the new joint in town. I hadn't drank more than an inch of my pint when my prime rib showed
up, run over by a man in a white chef's tunic. It was well seasoned,
marbled, but disappointingly cold. I didn't feel like complaining. I
didn't want a fuss and a free meal again, and that's because it
happens too often. So I ate and drank and looked for character. A fellow to my left four stools was sketching up a storm in a lab
book. He was designing a wind turbine as he waited for his girlfriend
to finish up sidework. He didn't have to wait too long and I had no
question why he came home for weekends from Western Michigan
University in Kalamazoo. A birthday party of twenty charged in through the doors at 11:30 PM, a
good token for the establishment. I started to contemplate my route
home. Walking to Henry Street bridge and then taking shortcut across
Mona Lake sounded mad. In the old days, I could meet a waitress for
drinks and catch a ride home after. Or a patron. Tonight, I rung up
BT's. BT's had a flier on window of Bea and Arthurs advertising "anywhere,
anytime" rides within Muskegon for five dollars flat. So I tried the
number. A woman picked up and didn't answer "BT's!" I explained I was
looking a ride. She passed phone to a man, who explained, "My car's
messed up for a few days. But call and get with me later." This
reminded me of walking into a barber shop in Muskegon Heights that
advertised walk in service and shaves. Barber complimented my coat and
apologized. He wasn't set up for shaves right then. He gave me his
card and asked me to "get with him later." Okay, then, I shall. A
young man was getting "did" for Saturday evening. A man complimented
him, "You are coming
into fruition, young man!"
So I called my old reliable, but don't call them Port City Cab
anymore. That's Port City Limo now, thank you very much. Says so on
the cab window, a fresh decal. The dispatcher had a blue van there in
minutes, lots of cabs awaiting the 2 AM rush. Unusually, my cabbie
didn't offer much conversation, but I did learn he had been
temporarily laid of from his job at a small foundry and was hustling
in a cab for a few weeks. He charged me 7 at my door, and I tipped him
one.
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