I shared this story in my first book, but I was recently reminded of this situation and thought I would share it on here in case you missed it because you’re waiting for your book to arrive.
It’s a story about the time me and my best friend B went on Spring Break. This could conjure up expectations of a “Girls Gone Wild” type post if I failed to omit one important detail—we were 8th grade girls and we went to Florida to stay with my grandparents at their condo.
Every morning we would throw on our suits and flip-flops, hop on 3-wheeled bicycles and spend our days in the sun by the community pool. The afternoons and evenings, however, weren’t always quite as smooth.
As you might remember, my grandma was someone who believed that once meat was cooked, it didn’t need to be refrigerated and could be left out on the hot countertop until it was either consumed or it disintegrated. What did need to be refrigerated—or more specifically, kept in large Ziploc bags in the freezer—were ketchup and mustard packets from various fast food establishments that always gave out “free condiments.”
Because of a desire to avoid food poisoning, we often suggested frequenting various chain restaurants for dinner. This suggestion was often well-received, not only because my grandpa loved to eat anything anywhere, but because Happy Hour drinks were 2-for-1 at most of these restaurants—as long as you ordered both drinks at the same time.
That meant that when you walked into any Applebees, Outback, etc. between the hours of 4-6, you would be greeted with tables full of senior citizens pushing their oxygen tanks off to the side of their booths to make room for their two Rum and Cokes, Screwdrivers or Vodka Tonics.
The waitresses were thrilled with their tips, I’m sure.
One day my grandparents presented us with an exciting proposition—going to the beach about an hour away where the “real” action was. We eagerly packed our beach bags and hopped into the back seat the Cadillac, windows down, Neil Diamond warbling from the speakers.
As we got closer, B and I exchanged excited glances and gathered up our bags, waiting for the car to slow down and park so we could join in the whole beach experience.
The car never stopped.
“This is the beach,” said my grandpa, proudly pointing it out as we kept driving by. Confused, I asked where we were going to park.
“What? Why would we?” asked my grandma, looking at me as if I had just suggested only playing 12 Bingo cards at once or actually refrigerating leftover chicken. “It’s too busy, too hot. Do you girls want some ice cream?”
Now mortified, I looked at B and saw panic in her eyes. The only way we wanted ice cream was if it could be eaten on the beach, which meant the car would have to stop at some point soon.
But despite my protests, the next time the car stopped was at McDonalds just off the highway. Grandpa placed the order of sundaes and cones while we sat in shock in the back. No basking in the sun on the sand, no dipping our toes in the ocean—just a drive-by in the Caddy and “Sweet Caroline” on repeat.
As we pulled up to the pick-up window, my grandma leaned over the driver’s seat and gave strict orders to the window worker to include the condiments, which I naively assumed to be the optional nuts for her sundae.
In retrospect, I should have been prepared to hear her demand not the nuts, but the free packets of ketchup and mustard to add to her collection back home.
“Free condiments means free condiments,” she said with a chortle, turning around to face us in the backseat. “When you’re paying (.99 cents) for each ice cream, you better make sure you get your money’s worth.”
Because after all, nothing completes a day at the beach like free ketchup and mustard to hoard with your ice cream.
“Now who’s ready for happy hour?” she asked, tucking the packets into her oversized purse, no doubt to make room for the sugar sure to be swiped from the restaurant.
I looked at B and saw resignation in her eyes.
We were ready.
Make it a double.
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This is the saddest story I’ve ever read.
But don’t worry – in a super hilarious way!
Oh my God, I laughed so hard reading this! I felt so sorry for you and your friend. Well done, Abby.
I think, if my father hadn’t sold his car (and gone too senile to drive anyway), he’d be this type of grandparent. My nephew & nieces can consider themselves lucky. All they have to deal with is him occasionally accusing them of stealing from his horde of used tea bags.
Because who wouldn’t want a stash of used tea bags?
This is the story (picture) of so many of our senior citizens down here in South Florida, Abby. I can just imagine the feelings of my daughter and son when they went down (by themselves, individually) from NY during the summer break to visit grandparents. My Dad was a “little” cheapo, and usually went to the “early birds.” Mom was tired of objecting, I’m sure. That’s the way he was. No fun for the kids. Didn’t go to the beach, either!
We had fun! Just no beach 😉
Sometimes I’m sure my grandma knew your grandma. 😉
Gotta love grandparents… & free condiments. Your grandma knows what’s up. (& you certainly know what’s up with stereotypes surrounding old folk & tipping! ) Funny Story!! 🙂
As one of those who is laughingly referred to as a senior citizen, I feel compelled to point out that some of us don’t hoard ketchup. The happy hours, on the other hand . . . Let me just say I’ll be watching you and taking names.
I love the visual of her asking for condiments during an ice cream order. It made me laugh out loud!
My favorite part? “looking at me as if I had just suggested only playing 12 Bingo cards at once or actually refrigerating leftover chicken.”
At least you got free sundaes. #SilverLining
This was hilarious.
Loved this story the first time I read it and love it now. Still chortling. Will have to get out my copy of your book so I can re-read more stories and have more laughs. xxxx
OMG, I love this story!