The Random Booth at Dangerfield's

Typical with my friend Debora, our trip down to the Corn Maze (or is it maize?) was an offbeat script with a couple David Lynch-ian moments.

Now, since I have a particular perspective of my world, when I collude with certain friends, cinematic things occur around us. In this case, I nagged to Debora that her supporting characters were predictable as I viewed myself not as a visitor to an attraction based in a farm field, but as film director Ridley Scott. I was critiquing the location and the need for a crane shot. I wanted to try astral projection. I imagined mothers having to extract kernals of corn from their child's ears and nostrils after they jumped and crawled around 100 tons of cornseed. The design of a Sphinx was made out in the corn, which according to movie reality was created either using a computer system, or alien-like crop circles. I wanted to get to the head of the Sphinx ("I'm inside your head, man" said Debora). We missed the pig races, skipped the soup-on-a-stick, and headed for dinner.

The original destination for dinner was a diner in downtown Shakopee (with a vintage "Eat" sign). I approached it from behind, and we were ready to just park without seeing the front. But I knew I had to circle around. The front of the restaurant revealed that it was obviously closed (despite many lights on and the neon "Open" sign blaring). Debora found this to be a perfect subject for her photography. The next restaurant of choice was Dangerfield's. It was more like a supper club, catering to older and affluent clientele. We were seated next to a booth with an old couple. Within a few minutes, the man started yelling at the waitress "we're leaving!" and stormed out toward the exit. We were center stage of the entire scene from our booth. The old man badgered the manager about how all the employees needed to reprimanded for screwing up his order.

I was impressed. I asked Debora how many times she re-wrote that dialogue to get the right nuances, casting was well done too. She was having a serious flashback to a time when her Dad helped her buy a car, with the same lines, same storming out. Later I noticed a couple with their child gathered in front of the grand piano. There was nice light dinner music, and all three of them spent a few minutes watching nobody play the keyboard (it was a MIDI system). I ordered a Greek Salad with blackened chicken - no mushrooms. Of course, I knew what was coming and announced to Debora "If there is ONE mushroom on that salad, I'm leaving!" Sure enough, it arrived with the fungus. I was humoured by the fact that I can be two steps ahead of myself after living through this over many decades (I hate mushrooms). The salad situation was rectified and assured the waitress that I wouldn't storm out.