Item #9 - Kelly's Roast Beef

I moved out to Boston back in 2001 with my college roommate Walter (if you're reading this, there's probably a 80% chance you knew that, and, know Walter). And when I did, I worked at a start-up company that had, oh, about 4 employees at first. I loved the company. I loved the people. But what I didn't love was the fact that the other people there were all in relationships and weren't exactly of the go-to-the-bar-every-weekend age or mindset. Add to that the fact that Walter and I lived in Marlborough, a suburb about 30 miles from downtown that makes my old home of Sterling Height seem lively. And add to that the fact that Walter decided to start a long-distance relationship right before moving and usually preferred talking on the phone for 3 hours on a Friday to going out.

You may or may not find this blog interesting, but I'm pretty sure if I started a blog that just told Walter-isms and Walter stories, the followers would grow to the 1000's in a month. He is the only person I know that I would actually encourage to start a Twitter account, for better or worse. Walter in 140 characters would be an adventure . . . though mostly an adventure into the offensive and un-PC.

The combination of all those things led to me having a near non-existent social lifeearly on in my Boston going, which was made worse by me coming off the most enjoyable summer I had ever had - the post-graduation no-real-job drunk-fest in Ann Arbor.  That first year out here can only be rivaled in its social ineptitude by my 2 years spent at grad school in West Lafayette, Indiana (one of the first times I drove across town to the grocery store, I passed an old timer sitting on his rocking chair on his porch wearing overalls and no shirt. Right there, I knew it would be a long-ass 2 years).  

But at least in Boston, there was, ya know, an actual city to see. Thus, Independent Alan was born, and I was able to actually get out and start doing things alone. Going to musuems alone. Going to the movies alone. Going to concerts alone. But one thing that still kind of weirds me out is going to dinner solo. Maybe it's because with that one, it's blatantly obvious to an entire room that you're a loner (at a concert or movie, the lights go down and you're just one in a crowd).  Or maybe it's just because as I've said before, I have the patience of a 5 year old, and thus even the one time I did stop for dinner on my way home from work back then, I made sure to bring along a magazine (just sitting and thinking to myself for 20 minutes? What am I, a psycho)

Seriously, not counting eating at airports, where 50% of the people there are eating solo, I think I've only actively decided to eat at a restaurant alone that one time. So while going to Kelly's Roast Beef in Revere (a Boston institution. Ann Arborites - think Blimpy Burger or Zingerman's) wasn't an exciting list item, it at least carried the slightest fear of being that guy who's eating alone like a freak in the corner.

But as I learned, like many things in life, the fear was completely misguided and unfounded. No, not because I would stop caring about what the other diners thought with me eating alone, and actually grow up and be an adult as I continue on the list. No, it was because Kelly's Roast Beef's is just a damn take-out food stand by the side of the ocean!  I've seen this place 100 times on the Phantom Gourmet, and not once did that fact ever get processed by my Masters-level brain. So smart, and yet so dumb.

 

And while a Kelly's sandwich should probably be enjoyed as you bask in the sun and smell that salty seaside air, I, always the genius, decided to go there last week, at 9pm in December. Thus instead of the above, I got the below. Not exactly a lifetime summer memory. 

And instead of being that weird guy in the corner eating alone and mumbling to himself, I got to be that weird guy eating in his parked car while listening to talk radio, and who probably causes the neighbors nearby to call the cops on what they think is a potential pedophile.

Nope, not sketchy and/or sad at all.

So while I still need to get over that uneasy feeling of being the solo diner, I at least discovered a dining experience that can beat it in terms of overall level of depression. If only I had a quart of pint of Ben & Jerry's to finish off that meal with.

(and thus ends the blog post seemingly written by a single 55 year old lady with 4 cats).

• Thanks to Ang for the suggestion of Kelly's
• Yes, this theme of this post was probably a stretch, but what do you expect? It was a roast beef take-out stand.  Topics were limited. Just be happy it wasn't 1000 words on various sexual euphemisms.
• All are still welcome to come out to the Slutcracker Thursday. Ballet for the ladies, boobies for the guys.
• And tomorrow, item #10 . . .and there will be pain.