Nimrod's Last Supper

       Nimrod’s Last Supper

Suzanne Marsh

“This is the worst meal I have ever tasted!” What brought me to write this statement? Being a truck driver does not mean I know where all the great food is, it means I stop when I am hungry. It was a cold autumn night, as I stepped down from my big rig, I could hear leaves crunching under my feet. I stopped at a small cafe not far from Boston, that is where I was delivering the next morning. The name of the cafe was Nimrod’s, it did have a small area for truck parking, so I decided it was a good place to stop and eat. It was a cute cafe with gingham checkered curtains and tablecloths, with glass type glasses not plastic. The waitress appeared a bit stressed, but it was almost closing time.

I sat a window table, since the load I was hauling was cigarettes, I had to be able to see the truck and trailer at all times. The menu was on a board, of course my glasses were outside in the rig. I squinted and all I could make out was one item; a Delmonico Steak sandwich, with French fries and salad, it also had a desert; a concoction of pudding and something else. I will get to that later. The waitress was overwhelmed with customers, everyone wanted their dinner immediately. She was the only waitress there, but give the size of the cafe, it would suffice to have one person there except during a peak time. That seemed reasonable to me, I was out of hours so I could not go anywhere until six in the morning. It took almost that long to get my food.

The waitress took my order then returned to ask if I would like sauteed mushrooms on the sandwich. Sounded good to me, my stomach at this point was growling. She gave me a sort of smile and went back to the kitchen. She returned once again she asked how I wanted my steak cooked; I informed her I wanted it well done. That was my second mistake of the evening, the first was stopping there.

I asked if they had a newspaper, the waitress brought me one that was several days old, but it did help to pass the time. I waited patiently for my meal, I am not the type to be demanding, although that evening I should have been. Dinners arrived at other tables but where was mine? Maybe they went out back and butchered a cow? One never knows about these places. I continued to wait, she brought me coffee, muddy water would no doubt have tasted better. I think someone burned the coffee, then served the remnants of the pot. I flagged the waitress down, as she sprinted past me with two plates balancing on her arm. I asked her if she could make a fresh pot of coffee, also where was my dinner? I had been waiting almost an hour. She explained that they had a new cook, who was not holding any track records for making dinners, she asked me to be patient. I went back to the newspaper and began working the crossword puzzle.

Once again the waitress brought me a cup of coffee and as a peace offering, she brought a package of saltine crackers. My stomach was rumbling even at that sight. The coffee still tasted like muddy water but I drank it. I glanced around the room half the people sitting there had food the other half, me included had a cup of coffee and a package of saltines. I motioned her over and once again asked where my dinner was, I should have known better, the cook was doing the best she could, and my order would be there soon. Two hours later, I was still waiting, along with other grumbling truckers. One truck driver looked the waitress square in the eye and said if the cook took to much longer, he would cook his own damn meal in their kitchen! Desperate times do call for desperate measures.

The driver that was so desperate to eat had a Just in Time Load that was another two hours away, he couldn’t wait to much longer, he was also diabetic. I learned that when he stood up and became dizzy. I motioned the waitress over, told her to get some orange juice, the driver had a problem. She obligingly did so.

The cook was in tears attempting to keep up with all the diners who were in a hurry. I was glad my delivery was tomorrow morning; time was on my side momentarily. Finally, my salad arrived, at best it was sad. The lettuce was soggy, the tomato was wrinkled, the cucumber must have been at Valley Forge. I ate it anyway, by this time I would have eaten a stone if it were in the salad. I was desperate. The salad dressing must have been at least a hundred years old; it was some sort of vinaigrette, I think.

Somehow, I hoped my meal would make it to the table before midnight, that was when Nimrod’s closed. The clock was ticking, it was now almost ten o’clock, I had been there for over four hours waiting for my dinner. I just hoped it would be good if it ever got there. I noticed smoke billowing out of the kitchen, I hoped the cook had not set fire to the kitchen. That was not the case, actually she burned the French fries.

After almost five hours, five cups of muddy water, and saltines, my Delmonico steak dinner arrived on a platter, a rather large one. I picked up the sandwich, when I noticed something dark on the roll. Oh no, oh hell no, it was a fried dead fly. I almost chocked, I motioned the waitress over once again. I showed her the dead fly, she flinched. She grabbed the platter and headed back into the kitchen. I have no idea what happened to cook. This actually happened to me although I was not the truck driver, I was the passenger.