Somewhere outside of Boise, Idaho, the passengers are getting restless. It’s been about 13 hours since we left San Luis Obispo and we’ve been driving the whole time. I put about 130 miles in myself; we all pay our dues.
It’s time for food. There’s not much around but strip malls for miles and miles. A typical American suburbia scene. We put over on a whim to search for food. As we scour the signs we laugh at “Tacos Del Mar”. We are far, far, far from the sea.
We see a Chili’s looking place called “Wingers”. We decide to take our chances as the parking lot looks fuller than the other chain restaurants that we’ve not had good luck at in the past (like TGI Fridays). It turns out to be brand new, having opened less than two months ago. They specialize in Chicken Wings and figure that it’s a safe bet.
The first thing I notice, as I Bee-line for the restroom, is that there are more televisions in the bathrooms than in my house. There’s a flat screen above every urinal and a flatscreen above the sink. Strange, I think and go about my business, while catching up on baseball scores. Of course the tvs in the mens room are ALL tuned to ESPN news.
The waitress almost sells us on a bucket of wings for an appetizer, but our will power prevails. Not so for Larry however, he orders a winger sandwich. We laugh and joke at the amount of televisions that surround us, an average of 8 on every wall in the building, all tuned to sports channels.
Then it happens. The waitress comes over to our table to inform us that they are out of wings.
Out of wings.
The place is called “Wingers”.
Only in Idaho is this scenario even possible.
Oh, and the food was good. It didn’t suck, but Larry was really looking forward to the great wings the waitress rambled on and on about at length.
