I'm the old hand at this town now, and my newly-arrived coworker hasn't spent much time here, so I'm the one who is supposed to know where the choice restaurants are. It's lunch time and we again don't have any flying to do. I suggest we go for a bit of a walk across town to a ma & pa restaurant where I know we can get some tasty soup and maybe some lasagna or a sandwich. It's the muddy season, and road work in town forces us to go the long way around to get from the sidewalk to the door. When we get inside the complex there's a note taped to the window declaring the restaurant closed for a family emergency. Not much I can do about that.
There's another place to eat only half a block away, but we have to cross an unpaved parking lot to get there. I believe I've mentioned that this town has the world's stickiest mud. By the time we reach the restaurant it feels as if we're wearing manhole covers on our feet. We scrape and bang our feet against the sidewalk curb in front of the restaurant, trying to return our footwear to the appearance of shoes. The restaurant owner laughs at us through the window as we manage to get mud everywhere without significantly reducing the amount that is on our shoes. We apologize for tracking mud inside with us, but he knows it is unavoidable. He says his landlord was supposed to pave the parking lot, but he's still waiting.
The menu is various Asian foods. I had coconut curry and teriyaki meatballs, and then, as we had nothing to do but go and walk in the mud somewhere, we had a long chat with the owner. He was wearing an Edmonton Eskimos jersey, but explains that it's on account of losing a bet. He has the common misconception that as pilots we somehow own our airplane, or are allowed to jaunt around in it whenever we want. We explain that no, we can only go where we're paid to, because it's very expensive to operate, then we fantasize about the aircraft (Zeppelin), pets (capybara)and household staff (personal chef) we'd acquire if we were to win one of those big lotteries.
The restaurant owner discloses that a guy from this town once won the SuperMax lottery. He was out in Vancouver collecting his big prize, so of course they asked him what he was going to do with the money. I could see where this sort of story was going so I interjected, "Oh let me guess, he said he was going to buy a new truck!"
"No," replied the restaurant owner, although I'd supplied him with the perfect straight line. "He said he was going to buy a new windshield for his truck.
I just realize as I post this entry that it has the same theme as the 100 Items one, that of being pretty much satisfied with what one has. Life is good.