ArtsAutosBooksBusinessEducationEntertainmentFamilyFashionFoodGamesGenderHealthHolidaysHomeHubPagesPersonal FinancePetsPoliticsReligionSportsTechnologyTravel

The Female Angel of my Huddle House

Updated on June 12, 2014

"My 10-carat diamond, isn't it darling?"


They're everywhere

even in my favorite restaurant, Huddle House. Of all places for "Cal Destry," to cross paths with me. I do not believe in fate, nor chance, just ordered-events. "Destry," fits neither one.

I had seen "Destry," sitting in a booth near the back of the restaurant a few times, and he was very quiet, unassuming and obviously-un uneventful person. I am not one to condemn anyone.

Then for three or four recent visits to our Huddle House near our town, "Destry," was absent. Maybe he was sick, he might be a traveling wood stove salesman seeing an out-of-town client, or just plain overslept. I didn't know. Nor care.

"Right, babe. I am the president of Allied Fuel."


This is the same pretty girl from the top photo wrestling with an expensive lobster


Two things before I continue

The pretty girl in the top photo is not "Cal Destry." And the guy above is not "Cal Destry," although the girl and guy are both afflicted with two social diseases: Egomanicalepsy and Braggartosis, both fixable by consuming portions of "humble pie" on a frequent basis.

"Cal Destry," was enduring is own affliction: Know-it-all-it is, as well as Braggartosis, he was not a man, I found out, to be given a verbal open door into your conversation with someone unless you had a huge desire for "Cal" to not only talk you and your friend to the afterlife and turn you against mankind (without building an atomic bomb in your bedroom).

Seemingly, it just happened on the fifth visit to our Huddle House. My wife and I were both hungry and since Huddle House was the nearest restaurant, and a gas-saving proposition in itself, we were happy to chug on down to this quaint little place to have some "grub."

Proud homemaker in the 1950's


Explanation of photo above:

The headline above this lovely homemaker of the 50's has the word, "proud," in it, but I am not meaning the kind of proud that comes from the Biblical . . ."Pride goeth before a fall," because I happened to know (a) proud homemaker of the 50's, my mother, who did not have one destructive-prideful bone in her petite body.

Just wanted to clear this up before rumors got started that I was condoning and promotion the "destructive" pride.


The braggart businessman


My wife and I entered

our Huddle House, greeted the employees as we always do, chose an out-of-the-way booth and sat down. We made some small talk about what we wanted to eat. We shared the events of the day and just like an invasion of Army ants you see on NatGeo Wild, he popped-up from nowhere . . ."Cal Destry," in-person, standing wanting us to invite him to sit a spell, as us rural folks say.

"My name's 'Cal Destry.' Proud to meet you follks." he said with the style of a door-to-door shoe salesman cold calling on potential-clients in Topeka, Kansas. By the way, I love the Jayhawks.

We told him our names, for what reason, I do not know. "Whattaya think of Obama's Healthcare?" "Destry," said going for the throat. I hand it to him for not giving us time to create a believable lie to head back home.

This is the sophisticated-year of 2014, and people are wiser than Arab Sheiks about worn-out excuses . . .I left the gas on, I forgot to lock the back door and I didn't feed "Spiffy," our cute little puppy we rescued from the pound last week.

"Cal" was no fool. We knew that from how he had "that" look about him, of a man who was business-like, opinionated and mostly-full of hot air. So we played it cooler than a master jazzman at 2 a.m. in a smoky, underground jazz club in Joilet, Illinois.

Nothing like being a show-off in a new car


Young show-offs impressing the girls


With faith

I tactfully-answered, "Well, "Cal," is it? I really do not understand the mechanics of Obama's health plan . . .he is, in theory, forcing us to buy something we can't afford and put a fine on us if we do not buy it."

"Hogwash, my friend," "Cal" stated in machine-gun speed. "I sold insurance for eight years for "Capital Dome Domestic Mutual Funds," outta San Diego, bud, and I saw this coming years ago, but being the conservative, mind-my-own-business type of guy, I kept my mug shut."

"Well, 'Cal," still I . . .('Cal' interrupts)

"Well is't good enough. You have to do for my family, by the way, I have six kids, "Thomas," "Terry," "Tina," "Trixie," "Tammy," and "Todd," and they are all covered my friends and for, now you will never guess . . .$24.00 a month, but hey, do not repeat this or the C.I.A., who monitors my life since I worked for them fresh out of high school, are not content that I am a private citizen and want to keep tabs on me. Did you know that I can take you life just by looking at you a certain way?"

"Uh, no, 'Cal," I . . .(more by 'Cal')

"Yes, sir-eeee, I was a "weapon," used in Vietnam, but I am talking a lot, so I will go use the men's room and see you back here and the meal is on me," "Cal" said while laboring to pull his huge girth out of those tiny booths that are not made for people like "Cal," who have huge girths.

Sure as the summer rain

"Cal" returned from the men's room and sat down briefly at our table. But while he was relieving himself, my wife and I designed our battle plan.

  • No asking "Cal" any type of questions from "You got the time?" to "Are you religious?"
  • Just agreeing with what "Cal" said and hope he would grow tired of flapping his jaws and leave to torment other patrons.
  • Looking like we were interested in his fantasies as to not hurt his feelings.
  • Making no point to debate anything he said no matter how left-field the subject was.

"You ordered," "Cal," asked.

"No, we are still figuring out this menu---so many delicious things to eat," my wife replied. What a mistake that was.

"Hey, I own stock in this restaurant chain, and I suggest you eat the country-fried steak, gravy and green beans (a real meal at Huddle House) if you take the advice of an expert," "Cal" said pointing to his huge girth.

Suddenly a moment of relief. A rather attractive young woman in her 20's strolled down the aisle headed to the ladies' room I assume. She was dressed so fine, as if she were going dancing or just meeting someone at this restaurant.

"Hey, there, sassy girl," "Cal" blurted-out while reaching for this young lady's shapely butt.

My wife gasped with disgust and looked out of the window. I was waiting for the young woman to slap "Cal," with a good right cross. But she just halfway smiled and looked over his obvious problem of not getting enough attention.

"I dated that girl two months ago," "Cal said." "But we had career conflicts, and just decided to be close friends."

"Well, 'Cal," talk to her when she returns. I want to meet her," I said while my wife was nudging me in the ribs on myi left side.

Suddenly, "Cal," gazes hastily at his watch. Time freezes. Our hearts stop beating.

"Uh, oh, I am late for a stockholders meeting in Birmingham. I am a big stockholder with a company similar to Verizon," so it was nice, kids," "Cal" said and waddled his way through the exit.

My wife and I thanked the pretty girl when she returned from the ladies room. She said, "you are welcome," but what did I do?"

"Saved our lives," my wife stated.


This girl is not

my wife, but the expression on her face shows you just how my wife and I both looked during "Cal Destry's," dissertation on insurance, medicine, Vietnam and other subjects.

Need I say more?


Submit a Comment

No comments yet.