The plan was simple: after Lizzie’s mid-morning nap, we’d head over to the book store to endulge in a cappuccino and browse the travel guidebooks for the southern atlantic coast. The nap started late and I got wrapped up in an online search for information on the availability of the Tick animated series on DVD, and before we knew it, we were leaving the house at lunchtime.
We spent most of the short drive over to the Exchange debating the merits of the places we could grab a bite to eat: not too big, but no fast food, and we didn’t want to drive far out of our way, so Barbaritos, our first choice, was out of the running. We decided to try Atlanta Bread Company, since the portion sizes are small enough a human with normal caloric intake requirements can expect to eat it in one sitting without requiring therapy afterwards. The place was running a brisk business, but then it always seems to have a good lunch-time crowd. The deli counter offered all sorts of sandwiches as you would expect, but our eyes were drawn to the bakery counter on the left, advertising bagels and bakery sweets. We both decided we’d get an egg bagel sandwich. The line had only three people in front of us so we figured we were set.
Ten minutes later, the lone person working the bakery register asked for my order. Andrea and Lizzie had already gone off to find us a seat. I had decided she was too busy to make a cappuccino, so I just asked for two bagel sandwiches with egg. It was 11:15 by the time she asked for my order, and she just deadpanned, “We stop serving breakfast sandwiches at 10:30.” I double-checked the sign to see if this was mentioned and didn’t see it anywhere, so I just said, “Thanks,” turned around, and walked away. That really set the tone for our search for a light lunch. We started working our way along the strip malls, skipping each place in turn as it was too heavy, too crowded, or just not what we wanted for lunch. We ended up at Stool Pigeons at the far end of the exchange. It’s not the perfect late-morning Sunday brunch, but a little fish and chips washed down by a Guinness would be just fine after our arduous suburban hunt. I thought the inconvenience of the suburbs was supposed to be in having to drive wherever you wanted to go; once you’d arrived at the mall you should be able to find anything you want, right? Well, it being only 12:05, I learned I can’t be served a beer in a restaurant before 12:30 on Sundays. You can’t buy beer or wine at retail on Sunday’s, either! Thank goodness for the State Legislature! It sure is comforting to know I can count on them to look after my immortal soul by keeping me from the terrible sin of buying a drink with lunch. By the way, does anyone know what day it was that Jesus turned water in to wine?
