The smell of bacon and pancakes fills the air of the Cracker Barrel. Customers' car engines purr as they pull into the parking lot of the restaurant. The crisp morning air blows against my back, pushing me back and forth. Eventually, the old couple that owns the restaurant comes and flips over the open sign.
I live a good life, for a rocking chair. I reside on the patio of the Cracker Barrel, where I enjoy people-watching and observing nature. Another rocking chair sits across from me, who, unlike me and my white paint, is plain oak wood. Oak and I have become great friends over the years of sitting in front of the restaurant, where it would have become lonely without another rocking chair to talk to. We amuse ourselves by criticizing the
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checkers games that people play and whispering what moves that we believe would work better to each other. Today, the patio is empty except for the family sitting with Oak and I and playing checkers. "Agh!" Oak cries as the young girl sitting with him moves her checker into her father's trap. "I can't believe it! She was doing so well before that!" "Wait," I reply, "She may still win. She just has to play well for the next couple turns." Sure enough, the young girl continued to play and beat her father before the family went inside to have dinner. Oak and I go on to discuss the nuances of both players' strategy for the rest of the night. I don't know why Oak's and my relationship revolves around watching checkers, but it has become such a big part of both of our lives that we no longer question it. Perhaps it is because checkers is all we've known since we came to the Cracker Barrel. The other biggest thing that has brought us closer is people-watching. Every day, people come and sit with my friend and I, and we have witnessed many touching moments between families, friends, and couples. However, none are quite as memorable as the beginning of the owner’s romance, which I feel as if the met only yesterday. The woman owner, who I have come to know as Mrs.
Parks, worked at my Cracker Barrel when she was young, and she would always come sit with me on her break. Occasionally, she would bring a friend to talk with, but it was usually just her who visited. That is, until Mr. Parks came along.
Mr. Parks’s arrival as a new employee irked Mrs. Parks, who had to train him. “I just can’t believe him!” she whined to one of her friends one day when she was on break.
"You ought to at least give him a chance." Mrs. Parks's friend replied with a smile, "He might just surprise you.'
“He's already broken at least six plates and he's only been here for two days. On top of that, he never cleans up after himself, and is incredibly rude and clumsy!"
"That's true, but you weren't the epitome of grace when you started either, and you got better," the friend said. "Come on, just get to know him a little. Once you get him talking, he's a nice guy."
"Fine," Mrs. Parks huffed.
The next time Mrs. Parks came back for her break, she did not come alone. A young Mr. Parks joined her, following behind Mrs. Parks shyly. Mrs. Parks and Mr. Parks sat with Oak and I, and the air was filled with silence as each waited for the other to speak. Mrs. Parks was finally the one to talk.
"Want to play some checkers?" she
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asked. Mr. Parks nodded his head in agreement, and the two started to play. The checkers matches became a regular occurrence between the two, and Oak and I eagerly awaited the games. Both Mr. And Mrs. Parks were great strategists, and the competition between the two was always riveting. While the checkers brought Oak and I together, they also brought together the two young people. With each game, the two became more and more familiar with each other, and learned that they enjoyed each other's company. They grew to become each other's best friend, and then started to love each other. The matches continued without event for years, until one day, when Mr. Parks stopped in the middle of a game. "What's wro-" Mrs. Parks started to ask, but interrupted herself with a gasp as Mr. Parks knelt down in front of her and asked a very important question. "Will you marry me?" Needless to say, Mrs. Parks said yes. After that, the couple continued to work at the Cracker Barrel. However, instead of working in the kitchens, they bought the restaurant together when the previous owners retired. The beginning of their ownership of the restaurant marked the most prosperous time for the rocking chairs. There were more customers than ever before, and Oak and I had a great deal of fun with so many people to watch. For a long time, everyone was happy. A long time has passed since then, leaving the Parks couple old and graying. Now, business has slowed. Only a few regular customers still come, and there are not many that play checkers. If not for the daily checkers matches between the Parks, Oak and I would grow bored. Oak and I have known something was wrong for a while now, but the mood at tonight's match between the couple is tenser than it has ever been. As Mr. Parks wins and finishes the game, Mrs. Parks, much to my surprise, begins to cry. "This place is our home, dear. I can't bear to sell it. This can't possibly be our last game here," she sobs as her husband wraps his arms around her. "I know, honey, but we can't afford it anymore.
We'll have to play checkers at home."
"It's not the same," she sobs. "I'll miss it here."
"Me too," Mr. Parks whispers, "Me too."
Oak and I look each other worriedly. What will this mean for us? Neither of us get a wink of sleep waiting for the next morning to come, and everything that would change with it.
Finally, the sun rises, and the restaurant becomes active as normal. As I look around, though, it becomes clear that today is not a regular day. Instead of the soft growl of customers' cars, there are roaring engines of giant moving vans. The normal smell of bacon and pancakes that accompanies breakfast hour is absent. I look over to where the open sign should be flashing blue and red, but it is gone too. My Cracker Barrel is closed.
The worst part of all this, however, is that Oak is nowhere to be found. I watch as the movers put the rest of the rocking chairs around me into a van, and I assume that the van must be where Oak is. I wait for my turn to be hauled into the van, but instead of putting me with the rest of the rocking chairs, I am put in a smaller van, where an assortment of furniture was. The mover put a tag on me, which read: TO BE
SOLD. The van takes me to a warehouse of some kind, where there are no other rocking chairs or friends to talk to. There are not people who come to visit like Mrs. And Mr. Parks, either. I have resigned myself to the fact that I will never see the old couple or Oak ever again. It's a lonely thought, and it makes me empty inside. I hope that wherever I end up, there will be lots of laughter, people, and checkerboards.
At Chipotle, a Mexican fast food restaurant, the customer approached the first station where he ordered a burrito. The first employee asked “What can I get started for you?” The customer then replied with “Andrew will get a chicken burrito.” The employee proceeded then to warm a tortilla and ask the customer what kind of rice and beans he would like. The customer responded in similar fashion, saying, “Andrew will take some brown rice and no beans.” It was then that the customer began to look at the customer with a confused look. She did not say anything, and she continued to keep creating the burrito. When the customer went to the next part of the burrito-creating process (with a new employee), he did not begin his responses with “Andrew will have” but rather stating what he wanted on the burrito (e.g. “pico, sour cream and cheese, please.”). The next employee was the cashier, responsible for ringing up the customer for his food. The cashier asked the customer if the burrito was going to be it for him. The customer responded with “That’s going to be it for Andrew today.” The cashier then acknowledged the customer and then proceeded to check the customer out. Once the checkout was completed, the customer said “Thank you,” and left the restaurant.
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