I Didn't Even Look To See What The Arcade Game Is Now

After my Thursday doctor's appointment, and the subsequent interlude at the casino, my sweet baboo chauffeur Farmer H took me to Imo's for lunch. We used to go there all the time, to the one halfway between the city and Hillmomba. Now Hillmomba has an Imo's of its own, but we've never been there. It wouldn't be the same. When Farmer H's boys were just this side of their tween years, we used to make regular trips to a lumber store located within sight of Imo's. After boring them into submission, we treated them to Imo's and quarters for Galaga. When our next two boys were a bit younger, we stopped by that Imo's after we'd been to the city. Except those times the purpose of our city trip was to visit Chuck E. Cheese. Seriously. Even Mrs. Hillbilly Mom can have too much pizza.

The Hillbilly family Imo's excursion would involve a large pizza, a salad that we split three ways, an order of breadsticks, and coins for a golf game and the candy dispensers on the way out. Fairly cheap entertainment for four. Whereas Farmer H's boys were good eaters of just about anything, our kids were persnickety. The salad was first separated between Farmer H and Mrs. Hillbilly Mom. He took his half out of the clear bowl and put it on a plate. Then I took the bowl, and picked out the shredded Provel for The Pony, who insisted on eating no pizza, only cheese shreds on Premium Saltines that came two to a wrapper, and one breadstick. He's never been a big eater. The #1 son would try a couple of squares of pizza, but his meat-and-potatoes was the bread. Neither Farmer H nor Mrs. Hillbilly Mom was allowed breadsticks.

The kids went to play the golf game that had replaced Galaga, with The Pony standing on a chair, mainly watching #1, giving up his own quarters, and playing only the very last game. The staff at Imo's was not all that safety-minded. Nobody ever told The Pony to get down off that chair, no matter how many times he tipped to and fro. Farmer H watched football on the big TV over the top of my head, while I listened and occasionally looked over my shoulder to make sure #1 and The Pony were still at the game, and not bothering anyone. We took the leftover pizza home in a styrofoam box, and forked over more change for the Sprees and Runts in the candy machines by the door. Let the record show that Imo's Pizza is not nearly as good after it leaves the premises. In fact, it is virtually unrecognizable as pizza. But I never gave up hope.

On our Thursday feast at Imo's, we only had a medium pizza, and Farmer H said we wanted two bowls for the salad bar. The salad is never as good when you make it yourself. We could not sit at our old table for six because ONE man was sitting there. So Farmer H picked a table for four on another aisle. Of course the next people who came in (three guys from an automotive dealer) sat right on top of us at the table across the narrow aisle from us, even though there were nine other empty tables available. Isn't that how it always goes?

And now, for the saddest part...I was terribly disappointed with Imo's pizza. They used too much sauce! Whereas the pizza used to be all crunchy thin crust with a hint of sauce, and hot white Provel with sausage blobs dotting the squares, it was now the same crunchy thin crust, with dark orange cheese dotted with sausage blobs. Oh, the cheese was still Provel. But so much sauce infiltrated it that it turned orange, and took on a different taste. Don't think that we didn't eat it. Only one lonely square was left.

We did not take it home in a styrofoam box.