Don’t Ask for Wifi

Excited about an interview I completed earlier in the day in Portsmouth, Ohio, I decided to drive down the Kentucky side of the Ohio River to Ashland, Kentucky. Admiring the beautiful river as I drove the Country Music Highway, the one that pays tributes to Billy Ray Cyrus, Loretta Lynn, and other country and western musicians, stretching from eastern Kentucky to West Virginia, I was a happy and contented traveler.

Maybe I’d turn on some Dolly Parton or Willie Nelson as I drove through lawnmower country and past soft hills, filled with oaks, maples, and locust trees.

I set the navigation system on finding the restaurant I had heard about, a newish one, in Ashland’s old downtown area. I missed a turn, circled around continuing my pursuit for what I anticipated would be a delightful lunch.

Pulling into the slanted parking spot, I saw little in the way of signage, only an amateurish sign announcing the restaurant. Ceramic jockeys adorned two windows so I assumed I was in the right place.

I opened the door to discover a room full of diners, red coverings on the backs of chairs, and barstools near the front. A server greeted me, then led me to a table with a wingback chair. Perfect, I thought. How much better could it get?

She asked if she could get me anything to drink while I waited for a menu. I requested a glass of water, no ice, and a Chardonnay, as I headed for the restroom.

The multiple page menu impressed. Usually a glance at a menu is enough for me to make…