“It wasn’t very expensive,” says my buddy, TDV, as we sit comparing notes about the dinner we earlier ate at a restaurant. 

“The ambience was terrific, if you didn’t open your eyes,” says Bill.  “And my salad was okay.”

“I ordered a Julienne salad,” says Barbie.  “And what I got had great big pieces of the right things in it, but it sure wasn't Julienned.”

“My food was okay,” says Babs, “but I give the ladies room a zero on a scale of 0-10.”

“Service gets a two, and that’s only because I figure we can’t blame all the problems on the waitress,” I say.

“The wine bottle looked nice,” says Marsha.

“So, what kind of overall rating do we give it if we write a tour book?” I ask.

We talk a bit longer and decide that:  A) we shall not write a tour book and B) that even if we do, we won’t list this particular restaurant in the tour book at all.

But, if there is something to be said for a cheap meal.

Our weekend outing to Stratford, Ontario, was a lot of fun.  We had fun talking in the car on the way over there and back, we had fun going to a play, we had fun walking all over Stratford, and we had fun going out to eat.

You see, even a bad meal can make for a fine experience if it makes for a fun time with good friends.

We walked and walked and talked and talked.  I added it all up, and discovered that on Saturday we walked over 30 miles, which is a long, long way to walk, especially carrying full packs and wearing heavy boots. 

Okay, I may be stretching it a bit.  We weren’t carrying packs or wearing heavy boots, but we aren’t spring chickens anymore either, so we get points for being mature, and, walking 30 miles in one day is a long way no matter how old one is.

What?  Well, yes, that’s right, it is 30 miles if you add all of our miles together, but 30 miles is 30 miles, and the chocolate store did come at the very end of the walk, and nobody ever said that we EACH walked 30 miles, for crying out loud.  I mean, what do you think we are?  United States Marines or something? 

Get real.

Now, about the play. 

We saw Oliver.  One of the highlights for me came in the first ten minutes. Remember now, I’m easily amused.   We were in the balcony, and couldn’t help noticing that there was an entire section of the very best seats, way down in front, that was totally empty when the play started. 

During the third song---and, if you’ve ever seen Oliver you know it’s one of those musicals, kind of like Les Miserables, where they never stop singing---they may as well call it an opera---here comes this entire gaggle of people led by an usher with a tiny little flashlight, filing into those seats. (In Canada, groups of people are always called “gaggles” in honor of Canada geese.) 

This was obviously a busload of people---there were that many of them, and I’m thinking that we had walked a mile after a lousy dinner, chased by raindrops, and had managed to get there on time, and these people came on a bus and were dropped off right by the front door and clattered in and disturbed everyone during a song called “I Shall Scream.” 

There could only be one explanation:  They had the same waitress we did.

At least they didn’t pay much for dinner.

                                  Jim Whitehouse

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