Idle Minutes

We visited Johnny Rockets today for a lunch burger.

We were seated in a two person booth. These are itty-bitty booths. Once seated, there is room for a burger a drink and your elbows. Not much else. That is because of the assorted paraphernalia which joins you for your meal.

There is a nickel jukebox on each table which takes up a fair chunk of space. I started pumping nickels into it and choosing songs, my wife anxiously looking for nickels of her own so she could start pumping them in as well.

When our waitress finally showed up, we were informed that the “jukeboxes were out”. Not being entirely well versed in “waitress-ese”, I took that to mean they didn’t work. She confirmed my assumption and made no offer to reimburse my twenty-five cent contribution to their establishment.

Of course music was playing in the place, loudly, and oddly the same tunes listed in the jukebox as available for a nickel.

Sneaky, sneaky, sneaky. No signs stating the jukeboxes didn’t work. I lost twenty-five cents before they passed along the little tidbit of information and finally, by chance I reckon, I heard one of the songs I had selected.

Oh well. Live and learn eh? At the end of the day they probably empty the jukes and split the money. Or could be I’m the only boob in years that has ever put a nickel in the dang things anyway.

Along with the nickel stealer on the table were the ketchup and mustard bottles, a napkin holder, little stems with ads at the top plugging their most expensive burgers and milkshakes. Plus a little black thingy holding packets of those cancer causing sweeteners we all use. And a vase with red carnations…which was nice.

As we sat there, cramped and very close to all our table wear, I sketched the jukebox and a salt shaker. They were the only things far enough away for me to keep in focus.

Then the lights dimmed, a disco ball in the ceiling lit up and started slowly spinning, and all the staff marched into a line right beside us and started dancing to the BeeGees song which was just starting to play…even louder than normal. I stopped sketching and ate my french fries…the traditional appetizer of Johnny Rockets…as the Travolta wannabe’s strutted their stuff so close to me I could feel the swishes of air pass my face with every move.

The burger was excellent as usual but each time I eat at Johnny Rockets, I swear I shall not return. It’s the noise level and slow service and sneaky jukeboxes and other annoyances, which I forget about between visits. But, once a year or so, while running Saturday errands, I find myself saying to my wife “wanna go to Johnny Rockets?”

Upon exiting into the great outdoors I relished the lower volume of the parking lot and traffic noise. But sweat already forming on my brow, I missed the air conditioning inside the restaurant.

Life is a trade-off.