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I started today with a run on the beach as the sun rose in the sky. I’ve never understood those who like to sleep all day. There’s something about a sunrise that warms the blood and gets a person in the mood to face the day. On the rare occasion I do sleep in, I’m sluggish all day. I don’t like that.
I’ve been on the road for a couple of hours now, and as I finally enter the small town of Seaville, an odd sense of peace washes through me, mirroring the gentle waves lapping against the shore. Moving slowly down the street, I’m impressed at the quiet charm of the seaside town. The buildings seem unified, a common thread between rustic charm and modern touches. Memories come back to me, but they are foggy. It’s been over ten years since I was here last and I’ve lived a lot of life in that timeframe, been to a lot of places.
After driving through the whole town, I park near the ocean. There are plenty of spaces available, a bit shocking for a beautiful Saturday with a nice breeze blowing in off the ocean. This might not be the best place for a resort as there aren’t many tourists milling around. Then again, if there’s no resort, it might not be worth the effort to drive here. I could fill up this parking lot with little effort.
I leave my vehicle and move to the edge of the rock wall separating the parking lot from the sandy beach. A few people are in the water on boards, sunbathing, or in a volleyball game going on with a group of teenagers laughing and seeming to have a great time. This community seems quaint. It’s very homey and the people seem to be exceptionally happy.
I step away from the parking lot and move down the cobblestone streets, soaking in the sights and picturesque scenery. Up on the hill are small, medium, and large homes looking over the water, some looking older, a few newer, telling me this is a generational town that’s been here for quite some time. There really is a timeless allure to this place, something that tells me the citizens might not be too excited about bringing in something new. I’ve certainly run into this before.
There are those who like change and those who don’t. I try to be respectful when I bring business to a community, but the world is ever-changing. People either adapt or go extinct. It might sound harsh, but that’s reality. I’m a businessman, and I believe in progress.
Walking down the center of town, it doesn’t take long to find the Mermaid Café. The name makes my lips twitch. I wonder if it’s always been called this, and wonder if this is a generational business. My guess is yes. The name was in my box, after all. Something tugs on my memory. I seem to recall having lunch here before. It’s a fleeting thought, though. That was a long time ago.
Beautifully placed palm trees line the street, and I certainly want to check out all of the businesses. A lot can be told about a town by stepping into the local drug store. What items do they carry? Is it junk or local fare? Do they have quality products or break apart bulk items? So many tourist destination stores are filled with crap. I refuse to allow any of that in my resorts. I have strict policies for the businesses allowed at my locations. I want affordable options along with luxury items, but I refuse to have China bulk items that break after one hour. I’ll explore later. I’m certainly going to need a guide.
I step inside the café and am immediately impressed. The interior’s as inviting as the exterior with quaint décor and minimal decorations, perfect accents to the wooden tables and chairs. Soft conversation fills the air along with the scent of fried food and sweet spice. My stomach rumbles. I look over to the corner where I see a trio of elderly women sitting at a table by the window, their heads bent in what appears to be a lively discussion.
“You can sit at any open table,” a woman from behind the counter tells me. I nod at her and move across the room, sitting two tables down from the chattering women who only briefly glance up at me before diving back into their conversation. I have to hide a smile as I overhear what they’re talking about. They’re clearly deep in gossip, their voices easily carrying over the entire café even if they think they’re being discreet.
“... and did you hear about Mr. Chili?” one of the women exclaims in what she thinks is a hushed tone. I want to assure her it’s not whispering when you practically shout in a raspy voice. But again, the conversation is amusing and I don’t mind eavesdropping.
“It seems he’s been to the doctor lately.”
“Oh, what’s he doing there?” another of the ladies asks.
“I heard he’s been getting multiple prescriptions for those little blue pills,” the first woman says. Her friends immediately erupt into giggles that take at least ten years off their weathered faces. I look down so they don’t see my grin. I have to fight my own chuckles. I don’t laugh too often so this surprises me.
“Oh, that’s too bad. He’s not even sixty yet,” another woman says. “That man always seems to have one problem or another.”
“Well, the winkie not working correctly is a big problem,” the first woman says, making them laugh all over again.
“Heck, I wouldn’t mind any winkie at all right now, working or not. I almost forget what they look like at this point,” another woman says. I almost choke on my own spit at this comment. Luckily the waitress comes over, and I have a brief reprieve from the conversation.
“Good morning, what can I get for you?” she asks. She hasn’t handed me a menu. I guess the locals know it pretty well.
“I’d love a coffee with cream please. And do you have chicken fried steak?”
She grins at me. “We have the best chicken fried steak in the West. How do you want your eggs?”
“Over medium,” I tell her.
“I’ll get that coffee right away and your breakfast won’t take long.” She rushes away, then is back in a flash with the coffee and a bowl of creamer. I mix it then take a sip. It’s not bad at all. Not the best I’ve had, but certainly not the worst.
Now that I’m no longer distracted, I tune back into the ladies’ conversation. They’ve switched topics and are focusing on Mrs. Jones and the ongoing feud she’s having with her neighbor over blackberry bushes. This town is certainly entertaining so far.
“Those two have been at it for weeks now,” one of the women says, her brow furrowed in true concern.
“I don’t understand it,” another woman says. “They are just blackberry bushes. If they’re going to argue, you’d think it would be about something a heck of a lot more interesting.”
“They really should find something new. I think they simply like to fight. I’ll come get those blackberry bushes from them. Mine have died and you all know I make the best jam in the county.”
“Oh, we have plenty of places to pick blackberries,” one woman says.
“That’s not the point. Those little berries are heavenly. For anyone to argue about them is just insane.”
“Well, I think they’re arguing over who they belong to. If one picks berries over the edge of the fence, it’s World War Three.”
“Well, that’s just silly.”
