Seniors! Ooo! Ooo!

You're gonna have to forgive the procrastion...but procrastination is what I do. If procrastination were a man, it'd be me. I embody procrastination, personify it. Which is why it's taken me close to two weeks to bring you one of the most interesting restuarant experiences I've had in a long, long while.

There's a diner in my neighborhood strip-mall. It's called Nellie's. It'd a fine place. Great food. Cheap. Fast service. Good menu. I like it. Especially if I want take-out that's not something wack like Chili's or Outback or some Mexican food cooked by a Puerto Rican.

About two Friday's ago, I was done with my usual end-of-the-week wrap up stuff: getting together a skeleton news budget for the next week, putting in some photo assignments, filing my expenses, hitting the gym. I had about three hours before I was due to head to cover the regular-season finale for one of the local high schools. It was a meaningless game, so I was gonna arrive as close to kickoff as possible.

I had a decision, kop something quick to eat and catch a 4 o'clock matinee, or go home, watch a TiVo'd episode of Everybody Hates Chris and then eat a leisurely dinner. I chose the latter and chose to eat Nellies.

I get to Nellies around 5:30p and it was my first Southern experience with the early-bird special or whatever you call that special where old folks eat for half price or get a free desert or get a new set of dentures or whatever.

I didn't know Nellies was that spot, but apparently it was THAT spot. I mean, I suddenly got arthritis as soon as I stepped in the spot.

In fact, when I walked in the host looked at me funny and kinda smiled like, "Are you sure you have the right place." I should've asked him the same thing since he was a 35-year-old male host of the only old-folks spot more jumpin than Bingo Night at the Timber Pines Adult Community.

Nellies is located right at the corner of US 19 and SR 50, which is about a mile from my hood, which happens to be one of a few public hoods with large senior populations. And they all come Nellies for dinner.

I'm not the kidding type of guy, so please trust when I tell you that I was the Only. The only what? you might ask. Well the only whole-bunch-of-things.

I was the only single person in the spot. The only black person in the spot. The only person to later be seated alone in the spot. The only person under 65 in the spot. The only person that could see someone other than the person seated across from in the spot. And the only person that could hold my pee in, even if I really, really had to piss.

So, when I initially walked up to the host and asked, "Is it alright if I'm here?" I swear I wasn't being an ackjass. I really wanted to know. Because my previous experience with Nellies was breakfast and latenight takeout, I didn't know this scene existed at this spot.

The Curios Host looked at me and said, "You're fine silly" Not in a gay-way, in a "no, you really are a silly individual for askin that sitcom question."

I just wanted to know. naa mean? I mean, maybe these fogeys rented the spot out. I had no idea. Yes, I was discombobulated and not thinking straight, but that question came from a seat of earnestness. I really questioned if I, a young man, was allowed to eat at this restaurant during this time.

The host tried to play me though. They have these huge cafetria style tables in the middle of the dining area that seats, like, six people. All the geezers had taken the booths, so the Host tried to seat me at the cafetria table and have me out on this island for the whole world to see. I mean, these tables were so big that I don't think I could reach the salt in the middle of the table from a seated position.

So, I told him I'd wait for a booth to open up. Meanwhile, I was inspectin da deck. I was hawking these old people tryin to peep their steezes. And I was determined to be a Roman once I got seated.

When I finally got to my seat, the first thing I did was order a cofee, a decaf. That's what I saw them doing. They didn't begin w/ a beer or sweet tea or even a plain ol' water, it was a round of decafs. So I kopped, too.

While looking over the menu, I was gonna go with some real senior, like meatloaf and mashed potatoes, something I could chew with my tongue and the roof of my mouth...maybe mash with my lips a lil bit...but I couldnt do it. Or maybe something real dinner-like, like Nellies famous honey-stung fried chicken, which is the shiznit or, like, pork-chops, green beans and of course, taters. But I didn't have the fortitude. Nellies menu was too good. I went witha chicken salad melt, that I'd been waiting to try.

As I looked around, this was probably my most dichotomous social setting ever. I mean, everything that I am, they were not.

Oh, and the music. Frank Sinatra, Johnny Cash, Nat King Cole, Ray Charles, Bobby Drain...a lil Motown. I was lovin it. But not nearly as much as the periodic influx of 2005 Top 40.

It happened everytime one of the cooks swung the door to the back open, with 98.7 blastin. By far my favorite moment came when homeboy swung the door and the Black Eye Peas were pumpin and WillIAm asks some of the seniors eating their taters, "Whatcha gon' do with all that breast inside that shirt."

Old people are the most hilarious when they've been offended...thing is, they also can't hear of their ears, so this sure-fire classic moment was ruined by our bodies imperfections.

Finally, I was stuffed. The chicken salad melt was crazy-good. My decaf was on old-people-point and any other time, it wouldve been time to bounce. Bit old folks love a good desert. Thats what they live for.

My grandmothers appetite has basically dwindled down to nothing, but at a family dinner, I bet she could throw down some of her famous sweet-potatoe pie and a piece of my Pops' cheesecake and carrot cake.

Everything about seniors revert back to childhood. They cant control their bladders. You have to talk slowly with them and help them with everything. The lose all tact. Their attention spans wane. And they'd rather eat sweet stuff than real food. Only, kids like candy or anything that resembles hard sugar. Old people like sweet baked goods. They might not jump at a jolly-rancher -- imagine some toothless senior trying to gum a sour-apple rancher -- but they'll rock with a baked good. And more than any baked good, they love some pie.

Straight-up. I mean, Twist is a lot of Dudes, but maybe more than any, I'm a Pie Dude. But even I, the Pie Dude, can't get with a 65+.

So, Nellies, smartly (word?) catering to the seniors, packs an ill pie list. Lemon pie, apple pie, chocolate moose pie, cherry pie, blueberry pie, peach pie, cocunut pie...and you know, apple pie.

So I had to kop some pie, because...thats what seniors do. They go to resturants, order malleable dishes that their gums can handle and then order some pie for desert. They don't share a piece either. one slice per senior. thats how they get down.

My server looked at me and greased me, thought I wasn;t gonna kop me no desert -- even though I weighed more by myself than all 100 seniors combined -- so she came through, cleared my plate and slid me my check.

I said, "Oh, no ma'am, wait. I'd like some pie. A slice of apple pie ala mode please."

It came back with two minutes. I was so anxious to see what this pie was gonna be like. I envisioned it would be a thing of my dreams, since i literally dream about eating good meals. And I figured that theres no way this restuarant can survive and pack the clock-ticking souls in this spot, like they do, if they serve mediocre pie. The pie at this place has to be at least a 10 out 10, I reasoned, if not a 12 out of 10.

It was a 15. The apples were tender and sweet, but still firm and little tart and the crust...the crust. See that's where a senior will pull your skirt down. Every good pie-eater, and in turn every senior, knows that the crust is the key. It has to be flaky AND chewy and we actually have to be able to TASTE butter.

I could taste the butter my friends. And it was about as flaky as the senior-mans shoulders that sat behind me.

$9 for a coffee, a chicken salad melt and pie ala mode. Thats with tax-n-tip included. Rachel Ray wouldve been proud.

As I walked out, I nodded at the seniors, even tried to fake cough like I had emphesyma. The cough was a fake ploy for acceptance, but that arthritis was still real.

No looked at me or said a word to me the whole time I was there, not even my server. But I felt like I was part of a new fraternity.

They didnt make eye contact with me, but they saw my coffee, they saw me order that pie at the end of my meal. I even sang along with Nat for a moment. Nat was the smooth tenor, I was the sexy baritone. The seniors liked that melange even if they didnt wanna acknowledge me or it.

As I was exiting, I heard one of the seniors mumble, "I thought he was never gonna leave. And he was just one guy taking up a whole booth."

My first thought was, "You being legally blind, how'd you know?" Then I checked him real quick...he had on those glaucoma shades and he was rocking plaid leisure-pants -- a senior's senior. I wasn't about to try to jump-bad w/ homeboy. I kept it moving. And as soon as I walked outside, my arthritis was gone. The memory remains.