IHOP Stop

Well, we survived last weekend’s adventure…but I still have to tell you about the IHOP stop! Abbey and I were dreaming BIG about having a meal in peace and uninterrupted. Remember how we were parched after the water was sadly dumped in the fancy fountain at The Orpheum? That life-giving (and keeping Sal’s UTIs away) fluid was long gone, and a thunderstorm had just drenched the venue when we were supposed to exit. 

Abbey explained to the ushers her crippled mom had to wait as she made a mad dash in the storm to get the furnace on wheels. As I sat there looking around at the Orpheum and the miracles of my crazy ALS life, I said a little prayer, “Lord, please let this rain let up so all of this electronic equipment (ventilator and wheelchair) does not short out.” Poor Abbey came in soaked and said “ Bug, let’s get out of here! The rain has slacked up.” Look at God. 

We hit Highway 51 like a Nascar driver, looking for coffee, water, and breakfast food! Thank God that thunderstorm had cooled it down to 68 degrees. If we sweated any more we would’ve died! 

Fifteen minutes out of Memphis we saw that beautiful blue and white sign, IHOP! She whipped the Big Furnace into the parking lot and hit a gigantic pothole…twice! I thought surely I had lost a few teeth and cracked a few vertebrae. The van temperature in the back was 83 degrees (a regular freezer…NOT!), but the humidity had let up a bit. 

We entered the restaurant, and it looked like a starving football team had come and ate everything, leaving an apocalyptic scene. Everywhere we looked were dirty tables with mounds of dirty dishes with no signs of life. We looked at each other with fear in our eyes…then out of nowhere, an exasperated young waitress flew around the corner apologizing already, “I am the only server, and the other servers didn’t show. Can I seat you over here? I am trying to keep everyone in one area. I have been running my legs off.” 

We both followed her and passed two ladies at a table talking. We were seated and immediately asked for water, coffee, and tea. “I’m sorry there is no tea. I haven’t had time to make any, and I have to brew the coffee. Oh, and we don’t have any milk left for your coffee.” We assured her it was fine. She was off on a mission. 

I asked Abbey, “Did you hear the women we passed saying they had been waiting for an hour and nine minutes? I may pass away from dehydration. Look at the table over there. A glass of water no one has touched. I’m desperate.” 

The waitress seated a lively table of four women by my coveted glass of water. I also spied lots of coffee pots. She came back with a large, beautiful water and a coffee. “Can I get your orders?” she said, looking at Abbey. 

Everyone thinks I am deaf and mute because of the wheelchair. “She can talk,” Abbey said casually. We get this all the time. We ordered and held our breath. Abbey went to the restroom, and old elf ears Sal perked up listening to the lively ladies’ table. They were leaving this off and adding this on and I can’t have this and by the way, where’s my sweet tea? My eyes were rolling around in my head. I thought we would be there until closing time. 

Abbey came back and I said, “Start praying now. We are not making it home until after midnight.” I downed my water and voila, the waitress appeared with our order. Eggs and hash browns with ketchup never tasted so good. Don’t judge me. Then we had the special Dubai chocolate pancakes: 2 buttermilk chocolate chip pancakes with rich hazelnut & cocoa spread, creamy pistachio – flavored mousse, crunchy roasted kataifi, & crushed pistachios. I sucked a pistachio down the wrong way but got it out. 

We were paying the bill, and I told Abbey to tip her good. Bless her heart, she earned it. My elf ears heard she nailed the lively ladies table order. We were going to make it home alive AND by mine and the baby’s bedtime. I am getting old. 

On the way out of the restaurant, we heard our waitress say, “My boss is going to think I was in here stripping for folks ‘cause I have made so much in tips!” The van was at an icy 87 on the way home. 

The next morning, stumbling in bright and early with her living alarm clock named Damian on her hip, Abbey turned on my scooter to move it and sit me up in bed for my coffee, and we heard this dreaded sound. The beeps. The beeps that happen when my magical chin control gets disconnected. My lifeline, my wings, my freedom, the only way I can adjust or move my own body anymore. 

The van and wheelchair double whammy saga will be in the next blog.