It’s 7:12 AM and you are fresh out of the shower with the scent of the inexpensive hotel soap still on your (now dried out) skin with a kinked neck from a night spent on an unfamiliar mattress and unforgiving pillows.
But, you know fully well that you better hit the road if you plan on getting from Wichita to San Antonio by sundown, so you take the remaining shampoo, conditioner, and unused lotion from the hotel room and head on your way.
The previous night's travels were uneventful, but you certainly had to burn the midnight oil to make it into Wichita by midnight. Exhausted from your travels, you ate what was left of your teriyaki beef jerky and decided to hit the hay so you could get an early start in the morning (pronounced: mernin’).
Now it's early morning (mernin’) and you're realizing that you've got to pay the Piper and get some grub down your gullet. Realizin’ the fact that you've got another full day on the road, the decision to fuel up for the day’s festivities seems to be the most logical choice.
Just as your vehicle requires a full tank of gasoline, your carriage requires a full tank of man-fuel, so you saunter into the truck stop bleary-eyed and ready for some sustenance. That all so familiar jingle-jangle of the bell on the door serves as a friendly “hello”, even though there is no hostess to greet you.
“Please wait to be seated” you read as you watch a waitress in her mid-forties, likely on her second or third marriage, take a food order from some regular customers. They engage in some friendly banter and you notice she calls each one of them “sugar” as she takes their order. Eventually, she takes their menus and sends their orders to the kitchen.
“How many?”, she asks.
“Uhhh, just one please.”, you reply.
“Right this way sugar.”, she replies, which you silently resent her for.
“Coffee?”
“Yes, please.”
“Cream and sugar, sugar?”, she asks.
“Just cream.”, you reply, refusing to give her the satisfaction of hearing you say “sugar”.
She returns to provide you with coffee and takes your order. Given that the night before your dinner could most be accurately defined as “meager” if using an Oregon Trail description, you order the quintessential truck stop breakfast. Biscuits and gravy, eggs over easy, hash browns (crispy), bacon, sausage, and pancakes.
The meal really hits the spot, despite the disingenuous use of “sugar” by the waitress. The service is good and she provides you with the check promptly. You tip her 20%, despite her unknown transgressions.
The jingle-jangle as you exit provides you with the storied book end to this chapter of your truck stop breakfast experience. You get in your truck, start your engine, and begin that long trek to San An-tonio.
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I lived in the Midwest for years and miss Quik-trip. Now back in CA, I do like AM/PM for the low-quality burgers, as they remind me of the burgers from free lunch during my school-aged years.
However, I think the truck stop experience is unable to be topped. They are coupled with a convenience store that also has so many wacky American truck stop trinkets that we can only hope that these places are documented somewhere in history for future generations to understand the overall outlandish nature of America during this time.