For these lowcountry kayaking trips I often come down on Friday night so that I don’t have to get up so early on Saturday. Wherever I am I like to find some place quirky and local for dinner, and this trip was no exception.
I checked at the front desk of the motel on I-95, and was informed that there were two good restaurants just up the street. I scooted round the corner to the first, Silverado’s.
The van, radio station banner, and balloons should have alerted me to trouble. I walked in the door and was greeted by a plume of smoke, and a boozy greeting from a woman with stringy hair and fewer teeth than I have.
Well, howdy, you sharp-dressed man, and welcome to Silverado’s! Have a seat on this here bar stool and buy me a drink!
No, thank you. I had just driven all the way down straight from the office, and my slacks and white shirt stood out from the jeans and cowboy boots. I glanced around. Even if I had wanted to stay, none of the sparse tables between the pool tables and dance floor were available.
I guess the sign advertising Lingerie Lunch today should have also tipped me off. I’d already missed it, and the smoke was more than I could bear, so I left. I was after quirky, not hazardous.