The Sandwich Shop That Time Forgot

Everyone knows that the only thing that never changes is that everything changes. This is especially true about my hometown. Thirty years ago, Alpharetta was the last outpost on the edge of humanity. If Alpharetta had been marked on a medieval map, there would have been a line drawn at its boundaries and a warning that “Here There Be Dragons”. Today, Atlanta has not only swallowed up my little town but all the towns in between. Roswell Road (known to the world as Peachtree Street) is nothing more than one continuous vomitious stream of gas stations, strip malls and fast food crap mongers. Due to the arrival of big businesses like Cingular, Digital, and Coca Cola, Alpharetta has become home to a never ending cycle of transient yuppie’s passing through on their way to middle management. Without exception, I can go anywhere I want in Alpharetta, with only a snowball’s chance of running into someone that actually knows me. I would guess the odds are better for me winning the lottery and having my dick grow 5 inches in the same day. That being said, you get my point and we arrive at my real intentions.
“Dagwoods” is a little sandwich shop, located at the corner of Holcomb Bridge Road and Spalding Drive. I am not sure how long it has been there, but I have been aware of its existence for 22 years. Although I cannot say that I ever became friends with the owners, we were aware of each other and there was a comfort in the familiarity. One of the owners name was Jay. He was a cross between Kenny Loggins and Willie Nelson. His long red hair was always tucked up under a baseball cap, and he always gave off a vibe like he had just finished smoking a fat one. During a particularly lonely part of my life between the years of 25 and 27, Dagwoods became one of my “safe-houses” (the Varsity Junior on Cheshire Bridge is another one). Every Sunday afternoon, you could find me with a pitcher of beer, a bowl of peppercini’s and two glasses (a single person, cannot buy a pitcher of beer, thus the need for my invisible drinking buddy). Some people might label my Sunday afternoons at Dagwoods, pitiful or even depressing. The truth was that I could not have been happier. Then one day, I just stopped going.
I will be forty on March 21st. It has been at least 12 years since I have shown my face at Dagwoods. I stopped by on the way home from work yesterday to have a beer. I want to say that I was shocked at what I saw, but the truth is that I was shocked at what I did not see…change. It was like the place disappeared when I walked out of it last, and reappeared again at that very moment. All of the material things were just as I left them: the same decorations, the same Rock posters…even the same menu. I drew slow slugs off of my beer as my current image of the room compared itself to the scan I had made 12 years ago. Everything was perfect, down to the Captains wafers. I reflected on the impossible speed at which twelve years had passed, and ended up feeling old and fat…then I saw the pictures. On the walls, were photos of Dagwoods esteemed alumni. There was Lori, my favorite waitress; Jay smiled a huge grin as his impossibly beautiful wife clung to his side; skinny kids with big moustaches flipped pizza dough. It was all ancient history. Somehow in its rush, time had overlooked the sandwich shop and kept on going like the proverbial bat out of hell. I have no doubt however, that time will catch up with Dagwoods and turn it into something horrible like a Subway or God forbid a fucking Starbucks. I was thinking that I might stop by Dagwoods again tonight and get a look at the place one more time before I stop going again. Next time, I might not be so lucky.

Rust never sleeps behind the wheel.

Drive 65000 miles a year for 11 years it was bound to happen even to marathon driver like me.Almost 3 years to the day that I hit a car parked in the middle of hwy 400 at 3am in the morning.Hosea Diego Salazar Jesus Mateo Martinez Juan Ignacio Indigo Cesar Phillipe Oscar Juantwo Esteban Jorge Chi Chi Fernando Octavio Pepe Zaporo Felix Martin Jorge Palicio Rafael Hector Louis Anthoni Fez Fabian Emilio Juanthree Tomas
Julio Carlos Fidel St. Vitus, freshly arrived from Ecoudar and completely ignorant and irresponsible to the laws of civilization, had stopped his car and turned off his lights.We came along at 65mph and as I changed lanes away from another car with its flashers on in the emergency lane BAM!And yes he did call my insurance agency and
ask for compensation for his 1993 Geo Metro sedan, covered in two years pine resin and now with its back seat resting on its hood.State Farm laughed at him in at least two languages.
This time however it was my fault.I had picked up Mickey and we were heading to the jobsite and decided to cut back on 120 to avoid the holiday mall traffic clogging up 400 like 2 loaves of bran on a bus riders colon.Round a curve I came and the phone rang so looking down I picked it up just in time to look up and see the two cars stopped coming out of the curve.The person on the other line heard the double crash and the airbags going off.I hit some little girls driving to work and bashed the back pretty good but probably not fatal to the little Saturn until the E350 moving van hit us full on the passenger side going about 60mph.Bam we went forward again after airbag deployment which reminded more of like the time I got tackled by a busty redhead on my back lawn.Mickey jumped out of the car and began shouting "get out the trucks on fire".No just the airbags I shouted back.I pulled over from the wreck and put the truck in park,the horn blaring from the airbag popping out.
Next thing Mickey and I are scrambling to disconnect the horn and exchange the post wreck inquiries with the others.Mickeys usually hinckey back kicked in and off to the hospital for x rays and reaallly good painkillers.Two and a half hours later she was out.I went directly to the wrecker driver and asked him first thing if he could yank the bumper off my front tire.Chain in hand I strolled back to the truck and in 25 minutes I was out of there and headed to work.The E350 was totaled on site, a vehicle heavier about by 2500 lbs.
But now a little about my truck.TOTALED and still driving.Its been 460 miles in a week.I had bought it almost three years ago in Columbus,just about perfect.A near perfect replacement for that truck that was totaled out the week before.I still remember cruising home that night
I got it and reveling in hushed tones of its flowmasters burbling away.And verilly it was a token of one of the best years I had had in business.Now it sits in the yard , awaiting the agent to take it off to the salvage yard.
In the traditon of the navys of old, the crew of a warship headed to the breakers, would never bring back a shabby ship, even a battle damaged one.In that tradition I've scrubbed and cleaned the truck,damage and all,because it was built Ford tough and my most faithful companion of three years.