The Rocket

Issue date: 2/17/06 Section: Life

Colin McGuire - Staff Writer

I can tell you; oh I can tell you some of the people in my life.

Very rarely do I go home anymore. Being a senior and all, I don't feel I have the need to drive two hours to reach a box that I can sleep in for two nights, not accomplish a thing, then worry about how I could possibly find someone to drive me the two hours back to Slippery Rock just so I can hear about the great times everyone had over the weekend. It's just not worth it.

In addition, my hometown is nothing to, well, write home about. Considering that it only has one Quality Market, a handful of restaurants, a population that barely outweighs its own IQ and two bars that stay open all 365 days of the year, including Christmas, there simply isn't much to look forward to when I hit the Interstate.

Recently though, I came across a special somebody who I wanted to experience that thing I am forced to call home-the place that I came from, the people that I'm contractually obligated to come across at least two days out of each year for the rest of my life. I mean, if nothing else, I felt as though it would be an incredibly humorous experience, and a great story to talk about 60 years down the road, right?

Sure.

So somewhere along the line, my mother decided she wanted to take us out to eat as soon as my friend and I got into town. Now, when you want to make an impression on someone, I hear that taking them out to a dinner is always a good thing to do. So, when my mother suggested this, I thought it would be a lovely way to introduce this person to where I come from.

Little did I know that the place she had in mind was one of the two dive bars my town has to offer. My friend and I had dolled ourselves up for what we thought would be a somewhat elegant dinner, and we found ourselves being stared at by the 15 people and 12 teeth that occupied the place before we walked in. And so began the night.

Next came the food: a BLT that was either barely toasted or much too stale, only one of our two orders of french fries, tomatoes on the no-tomato turkey club and an extremely small pizza that was black on the bottom. When asked if they sweeten their ice tea, the waitress kindly thought for 15 seconds and replied with, "Brisk, it's in a can."

Following the meal, and after some stops here and there, we made our way back to my mother's home to figure out what the rest of the night may hold for us. Considering what it had already brought, everyone was clearly soaked with anticipation. Little did we know what it would bring.

Continued...

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