We walked up to the counter to turn our room keys in. It had been a weird night at this motel, I was still reeling from the strange stain that speckled my box spring. I tried to remain positive as we chatted with the woman checking us out of our room. My partner suddenly blurts out, "What's a good breakfast place around here?" I snorted to myself. I wasn't betting there was a good place, but anything was better than my box spring stain and this "continental breakfast," which was donuts with sprinkles. The counter woman gave us directions to the hot breakfast spot in town, along Highway 101 and we were there in minutes. It looked like a re-modeled 1950s drive-in, light on the re-model.

We were seated quickly and handed menus by a lady who looked and acted like Flo, the "kiss my grits," Flo. I guessed she had been working here several decades. The menus were standard but there was a woman behind us talking so loud, I could hear every detail of her conversation. I mean loud loud. It was hard for me to concentrate, even on the food choices. My partner, seated across from me says, "This is just a diner." I smirked. "Yes," I laughed, "Where do you think you are?" We made our selections and before long our food came out. Mounds and mounds of food. I am a good breakfast eater and I managed to get through half of mine. But our conversation was strained as we had to speak loudly to be heard over the woman who was shouting her business all over the restaurant.

My partner motioned for me to look but not look behind me. Evidently there was a woman rocking a muscle shirt from 1982. I asked if she looked tough. "I think she probably was once, " was her reply. I didn't ever turn around look, I elected to let the muscle shirt wearing woman enjoy her breakfast in peace, however it wasn't too peaceful. I knew she was seated next to the screamer. Another waitress was helping a table behind us and I was horrified to see that her headlights were on high beam, if you get my drift. The teenage boy she was helping was on high alert as he listened carefully to the specials. I couldn't help but feel like I was sitting in a sitcom at this point.

A father and his two kids came in. It looked like they had all just rolled out of bed. I'm not sure they weren't wearing their pajamas. The father recognized the screamer and yelled out, "Hey snot bubble, what's up?" At this point I could no longer stifle my laughter. It had all become too much, especially when my partner returned from the restroom facilities to inform me that the toilet, "smelled like hay bales." I guess it had a county fair vibe. I decided to pass on the restroom. I actually felt like I needed to get the heck out of here before I completely lost my composure. We received the check, paid and quickly got back on the 101. We sat in the car in silence for several minutes before we both started laughing.

People talk about the journey being more important than the destination. I totally get that now. The journey makes the destination. In this case, the little stops we made on our vacation became more memorable than the big tourist places we were looking forward to visiting. We need to make sure to enjoy the stops along the way, they are what make up our life, whether we realize it or not and whether we take time to enjoy them or not. Take time to savor the muscle shirt women, the hay bail toilet, the loud talkers, and the Flos. They are what make up the journey. And this is the only journey we get to go on.