Sutton Steak House
The opening lines to Hunter Thompson’s “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas” kept coming to mind….
We were rolling out of Midland, TX no later than 6:20 PM, and we were all hoping to make that place in Sonora by dinnertime. We didn’t make it before the place closed. There had been grumbling from the backseat of the truck as one of the travelers was bereft of her usual pillow. First, we ambled into the steak house, had ourselves the special [approximately 4 pounds of beef, piled high on a single platter, a baked potato, salad & etc., priced at $11/person>. Then, I started asking, not just one, but every waitress within earshot if they had a pillow. Or where we could buy a pillow, at this late hour, on a Sunday night, in West Texas. I’m not kidding, one woman, told us that the “five and dime” was closed on Sunday. When was the last time you heard it referred to as the “5 & Dime”?
Maybe understanding life along the interstate highway system is important. Attached to the Sutton Steak House is some kind of a motel. Or maybe the restaurant is attached to the hotel, who knows? But everyone I asked suggested trying “next door; they’ve got plenty of pillows there.” So while everyone else piled into truck, I dashed next door, and caught the clerk a little off guard. She hung up the phone with an “I’ll call you back,” put the TV remote down, and asked what she could do for me. “How much is a room?” We did the song and dance for room prices, then I asked how much for just a pillow. She looked at me like I wasn’t all there. I explained that I would have to ride in the back of the truck if I didn’t procure a pillow. She went in the back room, brought one out, and flipped her a fiver. “Hey, it’s free.” I thought the tip was well worth the effort.
My buddies were making like they were going to leave me when I showed up with the pillow. Oh yeah, who is **the man**?
The trip back was otherwise uneventful. While we stopped for coffee, and a clean restroom in Fredricksburg, I noticed something else, almost unrelated, there was a Hank Three song on the radio. “Uh, yeah,” said the redhead behind the counter, “it’s a Kerrville station, 94.3.5.2.3, I think.” That was too cool. I do believe I succeeded in making at a least a few folks share in our surreal experiences for the evening.
