Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
useful. This I did. I went out and had a look around the town. The reason I had chosen to
stop for the night at Littleton was that an American Heritage book I had with me referred
to it as picturesque. In point of fact, if Littleton was characterized by anything it was a sin-
gular lack of picturesqueness. The town consisted principally of one long street of mostly
undistinguished buildings, with a supermarket parking lot in the middle and the shell of a
disused gas station a couple of doors away. This, I think we can agree, does not constitute
picturesqueness. Happily, the town had other virtues. For one thing, it was the friendliest
little place I had ever seen. I went into the Topic of the Town restaurant. The other custom-
ers smiled at me, the lady at the cash register showed me where to put my jacket, and the
waitress, a plump and dimpled little lady, couldn't do enough for me. It was as if they had
all been given some kind of marvelous tranquilizer.
ThewaitressbroughtmeamenuandImadethemistake ofsayingthankyou.“You'rewel-
come,” she said. Once you start this there's no stopping. She came and wiped the table
withadampcloth.“Thankyou,”Isaid.“You'rewelcome,” shesaid.Shebroughtmesome
cutlery wrapped in a paper napkin. I hesitated, but I couldn't stop myself. “Thank you,” I
said.“You'rewelcome,”shesaid.Thencameaplacematwith“TopicoftheTown”written
on it, and then a glass of water, and then a clean ashtray, and then a little basket of saltine
crackerswrappedincellophane,andateachwehadourpoliteexchange.Iorderedthefried
chickenspecial.AsIwaitedIbecameuncomfortablyawarethatthepeopleatthenexttable
were watching me and smiling at me in a deranged fashion. The waitress was watching me
too, from a position by the kitchen doorway. It was all rather unnerving. Every few mo-
ments she would come over and top up my iced water and tell me that my food would only
be a minute.
“Thank you,” I'd say.
“You're welcome,” she'd say.
Eventuallythewaitresscameoutofthekitchenwithatraythesizeofatabletopandstarted
setting down plates of food in front of me-soup, salad, a platter of chicken, a basket of
steaming rolls. It all looked delicious. Suddenly I realized that I was starving.
“Can I get you anything else?” she said.
“No, this is just fine, thank you,” I answered, knife and fork plugged in my fists, ready to
lunge at the food.
“Would you like some ketchup?” “No thank you.”
