You can’t, however, jump start a car with a scooter. The car revved, sputtered and died. I looked up at J, who stood outside the car door, “Can I get a jump?”
It felt good to drive my car around, albeit slow as molasses. Coming down from GS’s VW to a Volvo station wagon is like the feeling you get walking normally after walking on a movable floor at the airport – the brain tells you that things should be going faster. No, zero to sixty in about two minutes, puttering along with an uneven idle is all that was managed. But it was good.
J and I needed to putter around to charge the battery some more, but everything good and cheap was nearby. We ventured out to Ruby Tuesdays on the other side of town. I told him it was ritzy prices for an underwhelming delivery, but, why not. There’s always the salad bar.
The nine dollar salad bar as it turns out. “Water,” we both said hesitantly as the waitress came to our table. “Still plotting our escape are we?” I mumbled to J. He nodded glumly.
What’s interesting about Ruby Tuesday are all the stipulations. Add a dollar after 4 P.M. Three dollars if ordered with this, but not with this. Three dollar beers but a dollar more for this, two more for that, except on Tuesday, every other Friday, but not during Lent.
That'd be false advertising.
So we ordered burgers. Sitting at the table, we noticed a sign for free herb and cheese biscuits a la the reason one goes to Red Lobster. “With every meal!” I proclaimed, “Ask the waitress.”
We didn’t get a chance. Our waitress swooped in and set down two exemplars of their biscuits placed artfully just so on a square plate. Both J and I leaned it, eyed the biscuits, then each other. “Mmm, dough balls,” J mused.