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About a decade ago, the news team at the Cherokee Scout decided to celebrate a successful Tuesday morning of beating that week’s press deadlines by going out to lunch at Zaxby’s in Murphy. Hundreds of Big Zax Snaks and Wings & Things later, a few of us still go there at the appointed time, continuing the tradition started by former editor Matthew Osborne, a Hall of Famer in the snacking arts.
When I look at the menu at Zaxby’s, while I’m far from being 100% financially secure, I’m blessed to know in advance that I can pay for whatever I feel like eating that day. However, things weren’t always that way. I haven’t forgotten my first reporting position, when I was 19 years old, making $3.35 per hour and could only afford a Whopper meal from Burger King when there was a coupon in the newspaper.
The combination of low pay and a continued desire to eat led to a memorable date night experience later that year.
Despite my lowly salary, I wanted to take out the wife for a reasonably priced night on the town. We decided on Steak & Ale, home of warm brown bread that could pass for dessert with sweet butter melting on top. They even served tea made with real sugar, which back then wasn’t a guarantee, even in the South.
And then the bill came.
This was in ye olde golden days, before everyone had an ATM card, before credit card companies started irresponsibly throwing high spending limits at teenagers, when most young adults paid for things using new technology called a check. So when the server brought forth what I owed, I reached into my jacket pocket, suavely pulled out my checkbook and asked if I should make it out to “Steak & Ale” or “something else.”
That’s when the server said, loudly, “We don’t take checks.” A colorful, mildly profane phrase akin to a sacred No. 2 immediately came to mind.
“Can we ask a manager? Are you sure?” I said, for the first time ever praying I was being captured on Candid Camera.
“I know ... I’ve worked here for a … long … time,” the server drawed out, now clearly annoyed and likely fearing her tip was also attached to that check.
The wife looked at me, bemused. I did not have the cash needed on hand, nor at the house, and the bank wasn’t open. So I did literally the only thing I could think of at the time – I raided the Coke machine at the office. Since it was a Saturday, I also had plenty of time to replace the missing quarters, dimes and nickels that I carefully counted out until I covered the bill (which was well under $30 then, even with an attitude-filled tip) before Monday morning rolled around.
About 20 minutes later, I returned to Steak & Ale carrying a brown bag with the correct remuneration. As I again counted out the coins, this time at the register in order to keep the wife from being held hostage, the restaurant manager came up to me and said, “I wish someone had told me, I would have taken a check.”
It would be years before I calmed down enough to eat that brown bread again.
David Brown is publisher of the Cherokee Scout. Call him with comments and questions at 828-837-5122 or email dbrown@cherokeescout.com.