A terribly overwritten restaurant review: Strip
August 27th, 2008 at 2:35 pm
“You need any help?”
”No thanks,” I said. “I know my car is close to here somewhere.”
The two patrolmen were draped over a parked golf cart. After I spotted my truck and circled back toward it, I thought I heard them say something about people not ever wanting their help. Pride being dumb, or something equivalent.
I tossed my bags to the passenger seat and got inside the cab. The air was stale, so I cranked the ignition. I’d realized earlier that my running shoes were shabby-looking for dinner at a place with a dress code, so I bought some new shoes and planned to change into them in the truck. I’d wanted to buy new shoes to wear to work anyway.
As I reached around my steering wheel and groped at my feet, I wondered how many other people showed up to Atlantic Station, realized they were underdressed for dinner, bought clothes, and changed in their cars. I was also curious about whether the patrolmen noticed people doing this, and wagered with each other about how many times they’d see people go through the ritual over the course of an evening.
A few moments later, I emerged from the parking garage wearing my new shoes. I stopped in the Moe’s bathroom to take a leak and tuck my shirt in. Then I walked over to Strip, a pseudo-upscale steak and sushi joint.
Read the rest of this entry »
”No thanks,” I said. “I know my car is close to here somewhere.”
The two patrolmen were draped over a parked golf cart. After I spotted my truck and circled back toward it, I thought I heard them say something about people not ever wanting their help. Pride being dumb, or something equivalent.
I tossed my bags to the passenger seat and got inside the cab. The air was stale, so I cranked the ignition. I’d realized earlier that my running shoes were shabby-looking for dinner at a place with a dress code, so I bought some new shoes and planned to change into them in the truck. I’d wanted to buy new shoes to wear to work anyway.
As I reached around my steering wheel and groped at my feet, I wondered how many other people showed up to Atlantic Station, realized they were underdressed for dinner, bought clothes, and changed in their cars. I was also curious about whether the patrolmen noticed people doing this, and wagered with each other about how many times they’d see people go through the ritual over the course of an evening.
A few moments later, I emerged from the parking garage wearing my new shoes. I stopped in the Moe’s bathroom to take a leak and tuck my shirt in. Then I walked over to Strip, a pseudo-upscale steak and sushi joint.
Read the rest of this entry »
