Incident at the misnamed YMCA Diner

The restaurant at Wye, Pa. (Photo by the so-called
“old guy” with Linda’s camera.)

It’s Tuesday morning, July 8, 2008.
We are in Altoony, carting Jack around in the Bathtub. Jack came on his GeezerGlide, but it was raining.
We managed to convince him to stay at Tunnel Inn, and even to join us at the infamous “spaghetti-joint,” Lena’s, “the best Italian restaurant in the Altoona area.”
We even managed to pay for Jack’s meal there (thereby avoiding a God-blessed Manhattan), despite a torrent of noisy grandstanding, and flashing his moldy credit-carts.
So now it was Jack’s turn.
We are required to patronize the misnamed YMCA Diner in Wye, Pa. (See picture.)
All to see the cook, a 300-pound hairy greaseball.
“That guy likes to eat,” Jack says.
Deference is the better part of valor.
“Turn here; no here. It’s over here, Bobby.”
Jack is loudly barking orders at me from the shotgun seat just like Mother-Dear used to do.
We finally enter the restaurant parking-lot, and I see a tight parking-spot hard by the door.
Jack loudly complains if he has to walk over 10 feet, so I arrow into it.
“Tight enough for ya?” Linda observes.
Not too long ago Jack was noisily excoriating me for not using tight parking-spots — called me a wuss.
So I inadvertently choose a tight spot, more to avoid his noisy complaints about walking too far, and he can’t even get out of the car.
I don’t ride him about that, because it’s the old curse of the Connor genes, combined with his liking to eat.
If I ate like him, and didn’t work out and run, I probably would look like him — and move ever-so-slowly like him too.
Even 44 is starting to get the dreaded Connor gut.
The curse of the Connor genes is a never-ending battle.

RE: “‘Old guy’.......” —My macho, blowhard brother-from-Boston, who is 13 years younger than me, calls me “the old guy” as a put-down (I also am the oldest).

“Linda” is my wife of 40+ years. I have a Nikon D100 camera, but didn’t have it along. So I had to use her Cannon PowerShot.

Altoona, Pennsylvania (“Altoony”) is the location of Horseshoe Curve, by far the BEST railfan spot I have ever been to. Horseshoe Curve is a national historic site. It was a trick used by the Pennsylvania Railroad to get over the Allegheny mountains without steep grades. Horseshoe Curve was opened in 1854, and is still in use. (I’m a railfan, and have been since I was a child.)

“Jack” is Jack Hughes, my loudmouthed macho brother-from-Boston. He noisily badmouths everything I do or say.

“The Bathtub” is our 2005 Toyota Sienna van; called that because it’s white and like sitting in a bathtub.

“GeezerGlide” is what I call all Harley Davidson ElectraGlide cruiser-bikes. My loudmouthed macho brother-in-Boston has a very laid back Harley Davidson cruiser-bike, and, like many Harley Davidson riders, is over 50 (51). So I call it his GeezerGlide.

RE: “We even managed to pay for Jack’s meal there (thereby avoiding a God-blessed Manhattan), despite a torrent of noisy grandstanding, and flashing his moldy credit-cards. —1) “We even managed to pay for Jack’s meal there......” —Usually Jack feels he should spring for all restaurant meals; a form of put-down. —2) “Thereby avoiding a God-blessed Manhattan......” —My brother is a tub-thumping Conservative Christian (in the mold of Jerry Falwell), which to us (children of the ‘50s) means against alcohol. But that may no longer be; Jack bought a Manhattan for my aunt. (I don’t like alcohol, and what it does. I never drink.) —3) “Moldy credit-cards......” My brother noisily insists I’m a reprehensible skinflint, so my wallet is moldy, dusty, and insect-ridden; having hardly ever been opened. (My brother is more often a skinflint.)

RE: “Misnamed YMCA Diner in Wye, Pa.” —1) The restaurant is actually “Inlow’s (see picture). —2) “YMCA Diner in Wye, Pa.” is a mis-apprehension of the “Wye Motel,” in Wye, Pa. My brother had stayed at Wye Motel a year ago, and used the Inlow’s Restaurant. He called it the “Wye Diner;” so I renamed everything Wye as the YMCA. Put-down games. (“If you wanna use the YMCA, I can’t stop ya.”)

“Mother-Dear” is my mother, a commander of sorts.

RE: “Over 10 feet.....” —This is partially excusable, since my brother has steel pins in his ankles. But it’s also scoring points.

RE: “Curse of the Connor genes......” —All Connors tend to get fat, particularly in the belly. “Connor” is my mother’s maiden name. My brother is grossly overweight. He offsets it by being a blowhard.

“44” (“Agent-44”) is my brother-in-Delaware’s onliest son Tom. He recently graduated college as a computer-engineer, so is about 22-23. (My brother-in-Delaware, Bill, is after Jack. [Bill is almost 50.])