July 13, 2024

In The City

The morning started off with coffee and homemade waffles with strawberries. Waffles had a special place in my heart, since they brought back memories of first meeting my wife. When I visited her apartment for the first time, she made waffles for me and the dogs, which quickly became a weekend ritual. 

We starting calling waffles “daffles”, or dog waffles, since my wife would make some for them. Now, some nine years later, it was nice to sit down across from this woman, who was now my wife, and eat the breakfast meal that started it all.

This morning, the weather was cloudy, which helped block the sun’s heat. The humidity, however, was through the roof, making the air thick enough to see. With the recent rain, we had a few days of cooler weather, but today, the forecast said the heat would be back in full force. Excited for a planned trip into Raleigh, we put away our breakfast plates and got dressed, ready for an adventurous day.

The drive into Raleigh was pleasant. The tall pines that dominated the North Carolina landscape lined the highways that took us into the city. While I recently made this drive for dental appointments, the last time my wife and I made the trip to do something fun was when we went to the museum last winter during the Christmas break. Before I knew it, we were pulling into the busy parking lot of a shopping center that housed our destination, a bookstore.

I expected Quail Ridge Books to be small. While years ago I spent a lot of time reading and shopping in Barnes and Noble and Borders Bookstore, it was pretty rare to find large bookstores anymore. When I walked into Quail Ridge Books, I found myself pleasantly surprised. The place was much larger than I expected, and I knew the next hour of walking through the place would be fun.

After its size, the next thing that struck me was the aromatic scent of fresh paper. There’s a certain smell I had only found at a bookstore that sold new books. A library or used bookstore never smelled that way. In fact, those places didn’t smell very good at all. But the air inside Quail Ridge Books was delightful, and something I hadn’t experienced in years.

As soon as we entered the place, I needed to go to the restroom after the long drive into town. Forty or fifty autographed pictures of well-known writers decorated the restroom walls. The experience made me laugh for two reasons. First, it was odd to go to the restroom with all the faces looking directly at me, and second, the experience felt a little fancy, since at this time of day, I was usually inside my ground blind peeing into a ziplock bag.

My wife and I decided we would rendezvous after forty-five minutes, giving us plenty of time to look at the various genres that interested us. I enjoyed seeing a special section for local writers, which included an extensive selection of small poetry books. I took the vast selection as a healthy barometer reading of the local culture.

My wife and I met up and walked the last aisles together, and we left with four books. I was happy to see my wife reading for pleasure, something she loved to do before medical school. She was happy and even paid for my book, a collection of the works and ideas of some of the most influential people in history.

I really enjoyed my time at the bookstore. I’ve practiced writing all of my life, and I remembered when I was young, I found bookstores sometimes felt intimidating, and even deflating. After all, with all those books, who wanted to read the works of new writers? These days, however, the bookstore made me feel good about people’s desire to read. In fact, today’s visit motivated me to write more.

After an excellent time at the bookstore, we drove to a parking garage, parked the car, and walked to the Yard House restaurant. There, we ordered our regular selections, poke nachos for my wife, and chicken nachos for me. It was nice to sit down with her and relax over a meal away from home.

It was strange to see so many people packed into a small area. The restaurant, while nice, was also dirty and worn from normal use. The floors on the way to the bathroom were slippery with grease, and grime filled the table’s crevices. Ronnie, our server, was soft-spoken and polite.

As I recounted a story to my wife about Aztec beliefs about the afterlife that involved dogs, Brian, the manager, approached our table. I thought maybe they had run out of one of our ordered menu items, but that wasn’t the issue at hand. Brian apologized, saying my chicken nachos had burned, and he didn’t feel comfortable serving them. He put in a new order and apologized for the wait, assuring me they wouldn’t charge me for the plate.

I found the whole situation peculiar. While I appreciated the free food, he didn’t really need to do that. He could have just apologized and that would have been fine. My wife and I were easygoing. Although comping the nachos was not required, I believed that making such decisions ultimately contributed to the restaurant’s food quality, so it turned out to benefit everyone involved.

I found it interesting that the restaurant offered a free meal for overcooked food, while completely overlooking other equally important factors that affected the quality of food and service. For example, there was the dirty condition of the restaurant, and the server touched the face of the plates with his bare hand. The food included long cilantro stems, and there was a large piece of tomato with part of the stem that the kitchen staff never meant to serve.

I didn’t feel judgmental about these things. I only found it interesting that sometimes we focused on a few things while we were fully content to forget about the rest. Rather than a critique of the restaurant, it was more of a lesson about myself. After all, I was a human being too. I vowed to pay more attention to the things outside of my focus. The food was great, and we left the restaurant happy from the experience. 

For the next hour, we braved Costco. The parking lot was so full that we had to park at the very back, almost off the property. Inside the store, there were so many people that I couldn’t speed up because of the people in front of me, or slow down because of the people behind. 

I found it interesting how oblivious people were to their surroundings and needs of the other people around them. It was like the place was full of zombies going on with their routines without conscious thoughts. I always remembered that all the people I saw had a conscious experience in which they were the main character, and I was just an extra in their play. But their lack of awareness was comical at best and horrifying at worst.

In the evening, I went outside with my wife, where we listened to music while sipping on cold beers. I was happy to be back in the country on our property, where it was more rare to see a person than a hawk or deer. We cooked chicken wings on the grill and ate them inside the house once they were done.

After showering, we lied in bed, feeling extra chatty, talking about things we found stressful, like politics, social media, and people. My wife pulled out an imaginary box, carefully gathered all my thoughts, locked them inside, and set the whole mess beside our bed until morning.

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July 12, 2024