Good evening, whenever you are.
Last week I was in New Haven, and you may have seen this photo I posted on INSTA of some secret rituals occurring on top of an ACTUAL SECRET SOCIETY called Book and Snake:
Being a weird dad, I had two equal impulses. First, to yell at them to get inside before they break their necks. And second, to yell at them to LET ME IN SO I CAN JOIN THEM, because I had dinner once in Book and Snake about 10 years ago and so I’m basically a member too, and also a really cool guy.
But, I kept my silence, Silence being the first watchword of any secret society, and of any dad who is trying so hard not to make things about himself. Especially this beautiful final evening, this commencement and farewell.
(I did take one more picture of the secret celebrants tho, and I will share it with you in the SECRET ROOM at the bottom of this message.)
(And of course I did end up making it about myself a little, because I later snuck into the library like I said I would last week, and as promised I left a copy of VACATIONLAND there, right next to the poet named John Hodgen)
I also took photos of more secret messages left behind in the old card catalog. They are in the SECRET ROOM too.
But first, I forgot to tell you last week that we stopped at Bojangles on our way to Myrtle Beach.
Bojangles is a southern fried chicken chain. Most of them are in the Carolinas, and most of those in North Carolina, where it started.
I first learned about it when my old pal and yours KEN PLUME mailed me some of their famous french fry seasoning. It’s deep, deadly stuff, very paprika and celery salt forward.
Later, Donwill and Von Pea, aka the almighty TANYA MORGAN. posed in front of a Bojangles for the cover of their album 12 Minutes at Karriem’s. It’s the only album I have ever been named checked in, but you should still listen to it.
Getting mysterious powders in the mail and receiving secret messages via music lyrics all made me feel like Bojangles was calling to me, and so we stopped to receive its message, plus a two piece lunch combo and fries.
It was all very celery-salty and good. I recommend it. And if it’s a hot day, as this was, don’t worry: they keep their A/C set at “John Carpenter’s THE THING” levels of antarctic chill.
They guy who served us was a friendly nerd, big glasses, Bojangles tee a little clingy, a lot of floppy, brown curly hair. Early twenties. K and I took our food back to a wobbly table in the frigid dining area.
I can’t remember the last time I sat down to eat in a fast food restaurant. It doesn’t seem like the point any more.
When I was in high school, there was a McDonald’s in Coolidge Corner. They had little metallic ash trays, and not that I encourage smoking, but it promoted a sit-around-and-do-nothing conviviality.
You’d see packs of afterschool kids in there, or dads treating their kids to an early dinner, and almost always the Skirt Man would be drinking coffee and mumbling jokes to himself. He was was a guy in his seventies who still sported his snow white high and tight haircut and always wore a knee length black leather skirt.
We kept company.
Now at Bojangles, K and I felt lonely and cold. So I was glad when there was a shift change and Curly Glasses came around the counter to add another warm body to the otherwise empty dining room.
He started chatting with a seated guy with a black ponytail—a regular, I guessed. Soon they were joined by another Bojangles employee, a middle aged woman who had Manager Vibes. Or maybe just Bojangles Lifer Vibes.
She got to talking about the difference between this Bojangles and the other ones she works at. She works in the kitchen, and the Bojangles on the other side of Route 17 has things set up differently. The fryer station is here, to her right. And the chicken dredging station is there. And condiments are just within her reach.
“It’s better,” she said.
(She also made some suggestive references to her cosplay hobby. But neither Pony Tail no Curly Glasses asked any follow up questions.)
Eventually the party broke up. Lifer Lady asked if Curly Glasses was ready to get going. He said sure. He explained to Pony Tail that they were off to do some Instacarting for the afternoon.
And maybe they did. But when we left, they were just sitting together in the front of Lifer’s ruby metallic Civic. A/C blasting. Eating Bojangles together in silence.
I don’t know what the connection was between Curly Hair and Lifer Lady. Could be mom and son, I suppose. Maybe May/December lovers! Most likely just co-workers.
It’s been some time since I worked in a store or office and found myself a child in one of those fake, fleeting work families. Jacob and Susan and Patrick at the video store. Kathy and Harry and Harry at the movie theater. The only siblings I’ll ever have.
Maybe that’s why I keep thinking of those two. Eating their lunch. Recharging before a whole afternoon of a whole other job. And maybe another after that.
They deserved the almost marital quiet they were enjoying. Keeping company, unspeaking and understanding.
I don’t know when they might have gotten to Instacarting. I hope they took their time.
OK I PROMISED YOU SOME SECRET PHOTOS, and they are at the top of the stairs…
