We Must All Have Pancakes, Forthwith!

Between you, me and the internet, I have been jonesin’ for some pancakes for about two weeks now. Bad! Like Ozzy Osbourne and bat heads, but with pancakes. Ya dig? We don’t have a Teflon® pan. And if we did, it would probably be dirty. Don’t judge, Judy.  So. Last night, my wife and daughter and I loaded up the Saturn® and hit the highway. Destination: The Original Pancake House® (OPH).

Now, I know what you are thinking, “But Ribs, my dear, dear, muscular friend, OPH isn’t open at night.” You don’t think I know that? Please. I know that. However, we recently received a coupon in the mail from OPH stating, “Visit our Downer Ave. location. Now open for dinner Wed. thru  Sat.” (Lucky for us it was Thur., which falls in between Wed. and Sat.) Breakfast for dinner? Well, hot-diggity dog! Don’t mind if I do. Exclamation Point!

They also claim to be, “Home of the Dutch Baby!” A Dutch Baby is not a newborn from Amsterdam, but rather a heaping mound of dough filled with sugar, cinnamon and apples the size of a newborn from Amsterdam. It could sink the Titanic if some billionaire took the trouble to pull up the entire Titanic, reassemble it and return it to seaworthy conditions. But I digress.

So. As I said before. We hit the road. Spirits were high with pancakes on the horizon and rainbows in our hearts. Smiles stretched ear to ear.

Sadly. Our timing couldn’t have been worse. It was the middle of Rush Hour. Just call me, Jackie Chan (which would make my wife Chris Tucker, I guess. Gross.). Therefore. It took a half hour to get downtown. Once there, we couldn’t find parking. But OPH was in sight. We were in the proximity of pancakes. Of that we were sure. So. We pushed on. As we scanned the dimly lit terrain for a space, we noticed that the lights in OPH seemed eerily not on. Almost as if they were off. “Hmm…,” we thought. Tensions rose in the Saturn.

We tried to remain optimistic. Glasses half full, and what not. “They probably keep the lights off, you know, because of the economy.” “Maybe it’s a surprise party for us?” “Pancakes taste better with the lights off, don’t you think?” “I had carrots for lunch, so it shouldn’t be a problem.” It was futile. You could cut the panic with a sharp object.

I pulled into the nearest lot and put the car in “P”. My wife pulled out her Verizon Wireless™ cell phone and dialed OPH’s digits post-haste. She waited for an answer. And waited. And waited. It was the hardest part. No answer came. Only the sorrowful sounds of silence. And ringing.

They were CLOSED.

On this particular Thur., there was no dinner being served at their Downer location. No. None at all. The place was sans customers. Crickets. Chairs were on tables. Tables were on the floor. Ok, that’s usual, but you get the point. Bummer City, Population: Us. Talk about false advertising. Some ad intern really dropped the ball. Yancy Thigpen style. I mean, it’s one thing to randomly capitalize the letter “O” in the words “Orange” and “Omelettes” but it’s another thing entirely to lie about business hours. Tisk, tisk, OPH. Shame on you for inspiring false pancake hopes and then crushing them without even a second thought.

“What then?” you wonder.

I regret to inform you, not all stories have happy endings or Princesses. Sometimes the hero doesn’t ride off into the sunset, slay the dragon or get the girl. No. Some stories are just sad and barely worth telling. Like this one.

We drove back home with our heads hung low and our bellies pancake-less. My wife had a sandwich for dinner. I had a sandwich and Alphabet soup.

I spelled bad words.



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3 Responses to “We Must All Have Pancakes, Forthwith!”

  1. Tina Boger Says:

    Wow – I feel bad. I think that is the coupon I gave you 😦

  2. sharyn Says:

    Very sad. So I just learned that in the UK, they call Fat Tuesday “Pancake Day.” Not sure if that’s relevant, but thought you might like the idea of a day dedicated to eating pancakes.

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