I've eaten here several times, but I'd like to concentrate on the lunch experience I had on April 9, 2005. Yes, it was a long time ago, but it was extremely memorable.
My boyfriend-at-the-time (BATT) and I ate lunch there on our way to do some hiking. We sat by a window in the back of the restaurant. It was my idea to sit next to the window, which I soon regretted. Directly behind me was a cabinet filled with condiments which made it a little difficult to get into my seat, but I managed. My BATT sat right next to me instead of across from me.
The food was excellent that day. In fact, I think it was BATT's first trip to any Luby's, and so far he was enjoying the food and experience. And there were no "waiters" (or "fetchers", as I like to call 'em) yet at this Luby's, so that was also a plus.
That's when everything went to hell.
I was looking lovingly at BATT when suddenly his eyes bugged out of his head. He was staring out the window. I turned to look, when suddenly I heard and felt a tremendous thud in the wall beside me. As I finished turning to look out the window, a car burst through it, shattering the glass everywhere. The car's grill was almost in my mouth. I couldn't move because I was so shocked. My BATT grabbed my arms and started to pull me up, and that's when I went into action. It was difficult to get out of the seat because of the stupid condiment cabinet behind my chair, but I kicked off my flip-flops and dove underneath a nearby table. The restaurant was strangely silent.
I suddenly had a flashback to the Luby's massacre in Killeen in 1991. I thought surely someone was copycatting that incident. My BATT and I had just consummated our relationship that morning, and everything was all nice and romantic and lovey-dovey. Pigeons were cooing as we walked into that Luby's. Doves brought us our napkins. Heart-shaped bubbles filled the air. The floor was filled with soft pearly-white clouds. Angels were floating by playing harps. Y'know... LOVE. So what better way to end the day than by being murdered as we ate a leisurely lunch?
I lay there underneath that table starting to cry because I didn't want to die at age twenty-mumble.
My BATT suddenly grabbed my arm again and yelled, "Are you okay?!?!?!"
"A gun? Does he have a gun? Why are you not hiding?!" I blathered.
My BATT was confused and took a minute to think, and then he understood what I meant. "Oh no," he said, "it's just some dumb old lady in a Cadillac."
In my mind, twenty minutes had gone by since the moment I heard and felt that loud thud, but really it was only about one minute. The restaurant manager came over next, and she and BATT helped me into a chair. I was wearing the absolute worst outfit for a restaurant-car wreck: Daisy Duke shorts, flip-flops, and a cut-off tank top. Should've planned better. I had glass inside my panties, folks. And down my shirt. Other than that, I have a scar on my left leg, and I twisted my left ankle.
The manager (wish I could remember her name) was extremely helpful during the whole ordeal. She and her employees got me napkins, water, more iced tea, everything. And this was all without me asking for any of it! Super cool. The manager gave me her card and assured me and BATT that we were not expected to pay for our meals that day. And since we only got about halfway through our food, she gave us a $25 gift card to use at any Luby's. She told me if I ever needed *anything* in relation to this incident, to just give her a call at any time. Awesome. BATT never wanted to go back, but I made him.
The patrons in the restaurant, however, were very annoying. They formed a line and each walked by VERY SLOWLY to gawk at me with open mouths (some of the old farts had food in their mouths at the time). They treated me like a sideshow freak. Asses! Or perhaps they were all so taken with my incredible beauty that they couldn't concentrate enough to close their mouths.
I don't know if that manager still works for Luby's, but she was a class act, as were her employees. I've been back to that location many times, and I'll go back again.
No comments:
Post a Comment