We went shopping in Danvers on Wednesday. The Sentillion office was closed because of a coolant leak from the roof – ethylene glycol was pouring down into our electrical closet. So, I figured we’d take the opportunity to do some shopping.
We’ve been looking for furniture for our new apartment, and just haven’t been having good luck. All the shops we’ve visited seem to carry ghastly refugees from a previous age. Vintage furniture is OK, but it has no place in our home. Most shops have one or two contemporary or transitional pieces. And the saleswoman would like you to imagine she can order more.
On Wednesday, the roads were crowded with post-Christmas shoppers, and I quickly grew frustrated with the traffic. In addition to frustration, we were both getting hungry. So to escape the crush of traffic and get outside a burger and coke, we stopped in The Century House: dining from the land time forgot.
I knew something was wrong the moment we walked in: the place was packed, but everyone seemed to be at least one hundred years old. Once my eyes adjusted to the gloom, I realised there were some younger people there. But they seemed to be accompanying their near-dead relatives. It felt like we were having lunch in the cafeteria of a nursing home.
This perked me up immensely.
I spent the entire lunch making jokes about the patrons, expressing my astonishment at the decor, and poking fun at the menu – which includes a liver and onions appetiser (and what could be more appetising). At one point, I indicated the elderly woman at a table near us and said to Anna, “I keep expecting the Grim Reaper to walk in the door and sit down at her table.” That earned me a exasperated shush.