This morning Kinky called, to invite me to join him and two friends of ours, for breakfast, around 9:00 in Kerrville. “I’d love to go,” I said. “Wait. Not that restaurant you took me to for huevos rancheros?”
Kinky laughed. “Yes, Nancy. You need to give them another try.”
There were a couple of moments of silence, then I reluctantly agreed to go.
When I arrived at Kinky's dreaded designated eatery, there were no cars in the parking lot, again—which was not a good sign, again. I decided to sit in Trigger, and listen to my iPod, until Kinky and our friends arrived. Then Beth and Sue walked outside of the restaurant and waved at me. “Hi Cousin Nancy,” they said, in unison.
“Hi, girls, I said. “Where is y'all's car?”
“We took a taxi,” Beth said. “And, it was expensive—$14.00. Come on in, and sit down with us.”
When I walked in—nothing had changed. The place was empty, except for us, and the two unhappy waitresses. The ceiling mounted television, was broadcasting a soap opera in Spanish, and the volume was so loud, you couldn’t hear a plate drop. Sue and Beth were drinking coffee and we started visiting. Ten minutes had passed, and neither waitress had bothered to come over to give me a menu or to ask me if I wanted something to drink. So finally, I hollered over to them and asked to see a menu, and to please bring me a glass of tea. That was a mistake.
One waitress got up, shot me an angry look, and then she brought me a menu and my tea. Kinky was running late, but he finally showed up fifteen minutes later. As soon as he walked in, the waitress perked up—she knew who Kinky was! We then gave her our order. Before she left the table, Kinky tried to talk me into trying their huevos rancheros again, but I refused—I knew better.
Ten minutes later, we were eating our breakfast—after Sue and Beth requested aluminum ware. I have to admit—my meal wasn’t the greatest, but it wasn’t bad. As soon as we finished our meals, we went outside, so Beth, Sue and Kinky could smoke. Kinky told us that he was going to Wolfmuellers and invited us to come, too. Beth rode with Kinky, and Sue and I rode together.
When we arrived at Wolfmuellers, we quickly introduced Sue and Beth to Jon and Sandy. Kinky had a huge amount of books to sign, so Beth and Sue went outside to smoke. “Nance, I can’t smoke in here anymore,” Kinky teased. “Because, Sandy won’t let me.”
“No,” Sandy shot back. “That's not fair—It’s the law—not me. I could care less if you smoked in here until now. In fact, this morning there is an article in the Kerrville Daily Times, about Gloria’s Flower Shop, that has decided to close, after ten years of doing business here, because an irate woman, turned her in for smoking in her own shop. Here, let me print it out for you to read.” Sandy then went online and printed out the story by Alyson Chapman. “Here read this.”
“I can’t,” Kinky said. “I’m signing books.”
Sandy then handed me the story. “I’ll read it out loud,” I declared, and then I began to read it to Kinky. To read the full story, go to: http://dailytimes.com/story?tool=print&ewed=19eb936d678bc679
This is my "put it on a bumper sticker" version of the story. The owner said the city of Kerrville’s smoking ordinance was responsible for her decision to close her store. The owner said, that a woman had come into her flower shop complaining that the owner’s car was blocking her view at the intersection. The owner, then went outside and moved her car, hoping to solve the problem. Then the woman gets mad and leaves the shop.
The reason that Gloria had parked there, is because her husband, who is wheelchair bound, can only get out of their van—parked on level ground.
In less than thirty minutes, after the lady had left her flower shop—a city code compliance officer shows up, about a complaint for smoking inside her own shop! Gloria was told she could not smoke inside her store. Thankfully, the officer, who was only trying to do his job, only gave her a notice of violation—not a ticket, which could have cost her $100 to $500.
Quoting her, from the Kerrville Daily Times, Gloria said, “I’m not hurting anybody. I wish I could quit smoking. I’ve been smoking since I was 13, and now I am 56. I hate the fact that I am 56,” (Me, too!) “and now have to find a way to support me and my invalid husband.”
She then says “I am in here in my own building. I tell all my customers that if they don’t like smoking, there are other flower shops that they can patronize. I can’t go outside to smoke. I can’t just leave my invalid husband in here by himself. That’s like leaving a child or a dog in a vehicle alone. I have no choice, but to shut down. It just really sucks. I am not a wealthy woman, but I do what I can to help this community. I send free flowers to the VA and to the senior center every week. Now, I’m closed up.”
When I had finished reading the story to Kinky, we both shook our heads in disbelief. “I can’t believe this,” I said. “Smoking laws have become ridiculous from the get-go. I think, if you own a store and want to smoke in it—it is your right. If people don’t like it, then they should go somewhere else. No one is making them go inside. I’m going to blog about this. Our rights are going away faster than we can blink an eye.”
The four of us then had a brief discussion concerning smoking laws, and then Sue and Beth walked back into the store. We hung out for a few more minutes, and then we all went outside, so Kinky could light up, with Beth and Sue. When it was time to leave, Kinky volunteered to drive Beth home, and I volunteered to drive Sue home, to save them money on a taxi.
“Cousin Nancy,” Sue said, as we drove away. “I know that you are married to Tony, and he is good looking, but I think you and Kinky make a really cute couple.”
I slammed on the brakes, so as not to run a changing yellow to red light, because I knew that cameras were watching and taking pictures, from up above—ready to hand out a ticket. “Now, that’s real sweet, Sue, but you see, Kinky is too O.L.D. for me, and I am too F.A.T. for him, and besides—I love Tony.”
After dropping Sue off at her apartment, I ran a few errands and then I drove back to the ranch. When I arrived, I told Tony all about the fun breakfast with Beth and Sue, and going over to Wolfmueller’s. Then he says, “I need to go to Kerrville. Will you come with me? I’ll treat you to lunch.”
Thirty minutes later, when we arrived at Luby’s cafeteria, we went inside. Fortunately, we had missed the lunch crowd. It was now Senior Citizen time—blue plate special! About twenty gray / blue hairs were in there eating with friends or by themselves. On our way to a table, I saw one cute, old man, sitting alone, at a table near the cash register—reading the white pages, of a telephone book, with great enthusiasm! He was having fun.
During lunch, Tony and I talked about the flower shop, and when I told him about eating at that certain restaurant, and getting annoyed about having to listen to a blarring soap opera in Spanish—he laughed! “Nance, that’s their right. It’s their restaurant. And, you don’t have to go in there, and that’s your right. And, that’s the way it ought to be, period. It’s that simple. It has worked out fine, for all of these years—up until now—when our government stepped in, and decided to make our business—their business.
I could not have agreed more with Tony. As we were leaving to go pay our check, I noticed a small elderly woman, all dressed up, over by the wall, sitting in a booth, having one funny, laugh out loud, conversation with no one—she was sitting alone. It made me smile. I sure hope that I’m still laughing, if and when I get that old.
P.S. Sorry, for getting on a soap box today. I promise I will lighten up on tomorrow’s blog, or maybe not—it’s my right! Have a great evening or not—that’s your right! Am I right?
