The thumping, undistinguished rock music was almost loud enough to drown out the howling child seated with her large family at the table behind mine. It was Thursday at TGI Fridays. I felt dislocated. The décor contributed to my mood with its smash-up of Cracker Barrel and Hard Rock: a faded orange motorcycle seat, a fake road sign for Rock and Roll Avenue, a reproduction album cover from Abbey Road, tons of other detritus of popular culture from two or more decades ago hung haphazardly on a rough brick wall.
My waitress appeared. Drinks? I asked for draft beer. What size? What do you have? A small one and a big one. What's the difference? The big one is only a dollar more. I mean, how big is the big one? She didn't know. Her black tee-shirt advertizing the featured faux-Caribbean meals currently on the menu was accented with three Miller Beer caps with winking red LED lights.
Seated immediately in front of me was a young guy with very short brown hair dressed in Army fatigues. The current “dress” uniform is faded camouflage with the pants tucked into dust-colored boots. The patch on his sleeve marked him as a member of the 10th Mountain Division stationed at nearby Ft. Drum. His round, clean shaven face suggested Iowa to me. A patch bearing his name, “Miller,” was sewn over his right breast pocket. When he got up to go to the men's room I could see he was tall, probably about 200 pounds and in good shape; every inch the soldier the Army wants staring out of its recruiting posters.
Specialist Miller was accompanied by a young, dark-haired woman who sat with her back to me. I never saw her face. She fiddled with her hair, restyled it into a fancy twisted pony tail and ordered a fruit drink off the Caribbean menu. Shortly after it came, her soldier sent it back. They had forgotten the banana. When the soldier came back from the restroom he playfully put his hand on his companion's head. She didn't flinch. The two of them seemed so comfortable in each other's presence I strained to look at their left hands to catch a glimpse of a wedding band. Nope. I wasn't surprised when the soldier complained to the waitress that their bill was wrong.
My food arrived. As I dug into grilled salmon with spicy kung pao sauce, I glimpsed a guy crossing my field of vision outside the window. Was he actually wearing a three piece suit to eat at Fridays?
My question was answered a moment later when this very slim young fellow and a slightly chubby woman friend were seated just across the room from me. She was causally dressed with a simple white blouse, tan capri pants and pink flip-flops. He, on the other hand, seemed straight out of Pee Wee's Big Adventure, absent the red bow tie. He was wearing tight, apparently brand new, dark jeans short enough to show light gray socks and shiny black pointed Italian loafers. On top he wore a jet black dress shirt with a silver tie and dark gray vest. A perfectly tailored gray shark skin suit coat with silver pocket handkerchief completed his ensemble. His black hair was as short as the soldier's but included a little flip at the right temple gelled in place. Horn rim glasses drew attention to his narrow face.
This couple fiddled with their menus. When their waitress approached, the young woman handed her a “Stripes” membership card entitling them to a free appetizer. I knew this only because my waitress had tried unsuccessfully to recruit me for a Stripes card a few moments earlier. While they waited for their food they fell into a highly animated conversation. He languidly waved his long fingers to emphasize points. Several silver rings accented each hand. His wide smile and perfect teeth flashed continuously. She seemed entranced by him, but not in a sexual way, more as a valued friend.
I finished my meal. I looked around the rest of the dining room. Most of the other people were dressed in casual clothes, a scattering of NASCAR shirts, shorts and jeans. None seemed to take any particular notice of Specialist Miller or Pee Wee. As I headed back to my hotel I wondered what these two very different men talked about with their women friends. What was the nature of each relationship? How was it possible that two young men with so many apparent differences could inhabit the same space-time continuum?
Never assume a place is not culturally diverse just because it's far from the center of the universe.
