SOUTHERN HOSPITALITY

Before leaving Little Rock today we stopped at Wendy's for a quick lunch, which turned into a not-so-quick lunch because the line was very long and, after entering the building, I was dead-set on having some of those chicken nuggets. And by some I mean ten. This is, afterall, America. Apparently all of the people who live and work in Little Rock really like having Wendy's for lunch. also--they couldn't get enough of that chili. Here, it comes as a side order, replacing the french fries on that combo meal of yours. Convenient. And I thought that was the weirdest part.

Until I sat down. The overweight black girl sporting the Wendy's visor and shirt--but, thankfully, not the Wendy's haircut--went around the dining area asking everyone if their meal was alright or if they needed anything. I'm not used to this, obviously, or it wouldn't be worthy of a post. I didn't know what to do with myself. So, naturally, with mouth overflowing with that delicious all-white meat, I told her everything was 'great, thanks.' Of course it was great; it was Wendy's. I left feeling guilty that I didn't tip her somehow.

Everyone I've had any contact with since leaving Illinois has been incredibly nice. They fit a cliche, a stereotype and, stereotypically, my big city self doesn't know how to deal or react to the hospitality. I've just never been somewhere for dinner where there was a waiter for every table and he ran to the back room to refill your Pepsi. This was tonight at Becca's, a local seafood and steak place recommended by the front desk staffer at the Holiday Inn I'm staying at in Shreveport. The perfect suggestion: I was able to have a big plate of fried shrimp while my dad devoured the Snapper special. How bayou-ish.