I resist the obvious implications of this. I like to think of myself preferring quiet, sparsely populated establishments because deep down I'm have an Ernest Hemingway/Edward Hopper aesthetic—that I'm a kind of Nighthawks at a Clean, Well-Lighted Diner sort of person.
Yeah, that's it.
|My kind of place. Except for me it would be "Pre-dawn Hawks at the Diner." |
When it comes to the dark hours of the night, it means those just before dawn.
|Yep. This is indeed the "Happy Perkins."|
What brought all this home was stopping by a simple Micky D's this morning for a cup of really hot coffee. When running errands on a Sunday morning, I sometimes stop there on the way home to read the sports page and read about the Minnesota Vikings latest coaching mistake. McDonalds is so brightly lit that it's easy for me to see the fine print in the Star Tribune. And it's clean. And I like paying a $.99 for essentially the same coffee that Starbuck calls "Blonde Roast" and charges $4.50.
It didn't register at first, but then I realized that three customers before me in line all ordered "senior coffee." "Is this what I've come to?" I wondered to myself. "Hanging at at McDonalds with old coots on Sunday mornings?" I reassured myself, though, that I was considerably younger that these old-timers. They looked like they might have personally known Mark Twain.
"Senior discount?" said the snide McDonald's minion to me when I reached the front of line. "You get the senior citizen discount if you're over 55 years old, you know."
Someday, perhaps, the kid will learn about Edward Hopper and Ernest Hemingway.