Highway 8
It would have been an understatement to say that Imogene Simpson was an excitable lady. Excitable in an almost comical sort of way. She could take the most mundane topic and make it seem wonderful. Her facial expressions and hand movements helped to carry the lilt in her voice as the sugary-sweet Southern syllables tumbled from her lipstick-covered mouth. She was the perfect person for the Chamber of Commerce office in the small town of Claxton.
Thomas had gone by the Chamber office to see if a paper, folding map still existed for Claxton. He walked with Imogene to the storage closet and Thomas discovered that the Chamber office had hundreds of them in a large cardboard box. In the age of GPS, Thomas wondered how many years it would take to get rid of the maps. He wasn’t even sure if the new generation knew how to read a paper map.
He thanked Imogene and as he was about to leave, she said,
“Have you heard the news? I’ve promised’em that my lips are sealed but I’ve gotta tell somebody. Can you keep a secret?”
“I reckon so.”
“We’re getting an Arby’s. Up on Highway 8, where the old Bumper’s was”, said Imogene, as her eyebrows danced. “Don’t tell anybody. I just had to let somebody know. I know you won’t say anything.”
“Sure”, said Thomas, “I can keep my mouth shut.”
Thomas would be the first of many that Imogene would confide in that day.
He left the building with little excitement about the new Arby’s. He had lived in Claxton long enough to know not to be excited. Over the almost four decades of his time in Claxton, he’d heard speculation of other projects and businesses that were coming to town. Most didn’t. For a seasoned Claxtonian, the general rule was, “When they cut the trees”, or “When they start pouring concrete”, then and only then, did you start having some belief that the project might happen.
Thomas crossed the road to his truck. The interior of his truck had heated up in the short time that he had been in the Chamber building. It had been a hot summer. He cranked the truck and brought the air conditioner to life. He sat for a moment, soaking in the cool air and then he drove away.
He had moved to Claxton back in the 1980s. Back then, Highway 8 had been largely undeveloped. He remembered an Exxon on the corner, about a quarter mile from the interstate exit. Just up the road was an old cinderblock, non-chain-owned convenience store that sold soft drinks and candy bars and chips and bait. Just beyond, sat a Dairy Queen where everyone went to celebrate after a ballgame or straight A’s on a report card. The Bumper’s Drive-In sat alone on the south side of the road, across the highway, and just before the Dairy Queen. Other than that, it had been all trees.
As the trees were cut and development slowly filled in on Highway 8, Thomas remembered the decline of the Bumper’s. Its menu had remained the same, the basic drive-in fare from the 50’s and 60’s. No cheese-stuffed jalapenos or other gimmick-type items. It had not kept up with the times and the red, white, and blue painted stripes that ran down the side of the building had faded. Meanwhile, Sonic advertised daily, and Bumper’s hung onto the prayer that hopefully you would come back. It was not a stellar business model and as fewer and fewer frequented the restaurant, it had languished away. A victim of changing times.
The closed drive-in sat vacant and ugly for several years. A scar on the landscape until the City Board had requested that it be torn down. And then for several more years, a grown-up,
vacant lot had graced Highway 8. Thomas had wondered who would ever build there and then Imogene had told him about the Arby’s. “We’ll see”, thought Thomas. “We’ll see.”
The next day, Thomas was finishing his breakfast at the Claxton Café when Eric Larson approached. In many locations, the construction of an Arby’s would not cause excitement but in Claxton, it raised the pulse of more than a few folks.
“Hey Thomas, mind if I sit down?”
Thomas lowered his newspaper. “Naw, have a seat.”
“They’re building an Arby’s up on Highway 8.”
“Yep.”, said Thomas. “Heard about it.”
While he had doubted the actual construction, he didn’t want it to seem that he was out of the know.
“I thought it was a secret,” said Eric.
“Who told you?”
“Imogene.”
Thomas smiled, “Yeah, not a secret.”
Thomas looked at Eric’s clean-shaven face, He was in his mid-50s but could have passed for someone ten years younger.
“I’ve always liked Arby’s. America’s Roast Beef, Yes Sir”, said Thomas.
“What?”
“I heard that’s how Arby’s got its name. First letter of America’s Roast Beef, Yes Sir”.
“That’s stupid. Where’d you hear that?”
“I don’t know. I reckon it’s not any more stupid than gettin’ all excited about a fast-food place that’ll probably never get built.”
And so, it had gone. During football season, bulldozers showed up on Highway 8. They smoothed out the already flat lot, evening out the dirt. A week later, a concrete truck was on the lot and poured concrete for the parking lot and slab. The concrete was smoothed evenly into the wooden forms that had been laid out in rectangular shapes. White PVC plumbing pipes stuck from the slab. Thomas kept an eye on things on Highway 8 as he drove by several times a week. The location was right there in the middle of town and with each pass, he had been able to assess the progress or lack of it. As the winter rains came, progress stopped, but Thomas continued his vigil on the old Bumper’s lot.
As the holidays rolled around, his family had come home for Christmas. His daughter had asked, “What are they building up on 8?”
“Supposed to be an Arby’s”, Thomas had replied.
“Oh, that’ll be good”, his daughter said.
“We’ll see”, said Thomas.
A couple of months later in February, construction began, and Thomas finally convinced himself that an Arby’s was really going to be built. It was almost as if he were disappointed in being wrong. Disappointed that a new business was coming to town.
Thomas kept a critical eye on things as he drove up and down Hwy 8. As construction began to take shape, for the first time, he looked at the parking lot in relation to the framed-up building and thought to himself, “That’s gonna be mighty small. Don’t see how cars are gonna park and get in and out of there.”
Within a few months, the red and white building was completed. The Arby’s sign centered out front. Red and white streamers ran from the edge of the building to the light poles, giving it a festive appearance. A large red and white striped balloon floated atop the building and a vinyl sign was stuck into the newly placed sod with the words, “Grand Opening”.
Thomas witnessed it all from the cab of his pickup as he cruised by on Highway 8. He saw the cars wrapped around the building waiting on a drive-thru order and he thought once again, “The parking lots too small,” as he looked on in contempt, trying to find a flaw of any sort in the business that in Thomas’ mind was never supposed to happen.
One evening, a couple of weeks later, he and his wife sat at home, mostly silent with an occasional blurb of conversation.
“Thomas, have you been to the new Arby’s?”
“Nope. Hadn’t felt like Arby’s. Haven’t been there.”
“Me neither”, she said.
They sat in silence for a long moment before she spoke, “I wonder why we don’t get more nice things in Claxton?”
Thomas shrugged and shook his head. “Beats me,” he said. “Seems like they’d build more stuff out this way.”
“Yeah,” said his wife. “I just don’t know.”
THE END
