WHO IS SHE?

 WHO IS SHE? 

By Duncan 

An acquaintance of mine, who shall remain nameless, was driving from his winter home to his summer home and stopped in Indianapolis for the night. I don’t know him all that well, except I know his name, and we would occasionally say hi to one another in the clubhouse bar.  

He’s an older man, set in his ways. But aren’t we all a little that way when we reach a certain age? The older we get, the more we want things our way. He has a full head of hair and is slightly overweight, but not crazy overweight. I assume he is “well healed” because his travels never cause him any financial distress. He owns two homes, one “up north” and the other home in a gated community south.  

We haven't talked, emailed, or texted in a while, so I was surprised when he phoned me. 

“Duncan, I was driving through Indianapolis and stopped at one of your fancy Italian restaurants. I was having dinner in this older restaurant.” 

His sarcasm was not about the restaurant. The old building where the restaurant was providing service set him off. 

I asked him the name of the building. He didn’t know. I asked him the name of the restaurant. He stumbled crudely over the name; I didn’t recognize it. 

“It’s Italian.” He said. 

I didn’t push him on his weak pronunciation of the Italian restaurant.  

It was as if Indianapolis only had one Italian restaurant in the city. I felt he was trying to tell me how his pick of an Italian restaurant was being managed. And I also assume there were things he didn’t care for about the place. But I didn’t pry.  

“You know how these fancy Italian restaurants can put on the dog trying to sound and look trendy. When all they have to do is serve a plate of hot spaghetti with spicy tomato sauce and a bottle of Chianti.” 

“What may I ask, what are you doing in Indianapolis?” 

“Oh, we’re on our way home. I was tired of driving and decided to pull over for the night. And here we are. Wherever we are.”

“Can I assume you are heading north instead of south?” 

“Oh, yes, we spend the summer at the farm, and our winters, well, you know where we live.”  

“Yes, well, welcome to Indianapolis. Are you staying long?”    

“No, no, just the night; we should be at the farm by tomorrow.” 

“How nice that you thought of calling. Do you need anything?” 

“By the way, could I ask you a question?” 

“Sure, go ahead.” 

“A thin young woman entered the restaurant as we were served our meal. There was a stir about her with the other people in the restaurant. People were looking and whispering about her. I asked the waiter what all the commotion was about? He said Caitlin Clark came in to have dinner. I asked, Who is she? The waiter gave me a funny look and walked away.” 

“Who is Caitlin Clark? You’ve never heard her name before? 

“No.” 

Are you aware of the WNBA?”

“The WBA, no, what’s that?” 

“Well, no, not the WBA it’s called the WNBA. For example, the NBA is short for the National Basketball Association, but the W stands for women. There is a professional basketball league in the United States for women. It’s called the Women's National Basketball Association—the WNBA. We, here in Indiana, have a women’s basketball team. It’s called the Indiana Fever. Caitlin Clark is considered a star.” 

“I took a picture of her with my cell phone. I can’t imagine what the fuss is about her.”

“Well, let me put it in terms perhaps you can understand. You know the old saying … “Follow the Money?” 

“Yeah, sure. Is she rich?” 

( I wanted to add “Mr. Gotrocks” to my “Follow the Money” comment, but I didn’t.) 

The Indiana Fever pays her about seventy-five thousand dollars annually to play women’s basketball. 

“Chicken feed! That doesn’t make her a star?” 

Now, wait a minute; there is more to the story. Nike (The Sports shoe company) has signed a deal with her for twenty-eight million dollars for the next eight years.”  

“That thin little girl? Twenty-Eight Million Dollars?”

“Did you say you got a picture of her? Can you send it to me?”

“Yeah, but it’s not very good. Are you sure she is being paid twenty-eight million?” 

“That’s what the press is reporting here in Indy.” 

“Hell, wait till I tell Heidi.” 

Also, today, I drove from my home in Fishers, Indiana, on the northeast side of Indianapolis, to the southwest side of Indianapolis, to a small town called Mooresville, Indiana. 

It took me an hour and ten minutes. Gray’s Cafeteria is considered an iconic place for many to eat. The word “iconic” is a bit of a stretch, but it’s a good place to have lunch. It’s been there many times.  

They started their little restaurant in 1944, and it has passed through about three generations of the Gray Brothers' hands. It’s very well known, and the food is considered good to great, depending on who you talk with. Gray Brother’s Cafeteria is a cafeteria-style restaurant. Now, keep in mind that you have to like cafeteria-style dining. 

I’m not keen on the cafeteria style, but that’s how life is. I go there anyway. I bend my mind, almost pull a groin muscle, and accept the obvious. Yes, I realize that was a bit of an exaggeration. 

Hurricane Beryl is starting to make its way up the United States, and Indiana is on its path. We are expected to get a lot of rain. It started today.

Anyway, I got to Grays Cafeteria about fifteen minutes late. I ran through the line: Well, ran, run; neither is accurate. The woman in front of me was ordering takeout for three. When she got to the register, she had three different charge cards to process for the food. I looked behind me at the line. It was not all that long. The older women in line were straining their necks, trying to decide if I was the reason the line wasn’t moving.  

I picked up a small piece of strawberry pie, a chicken breast, a wing, mashed potatoes, brown gravy, and a glass of water. $20.47   

When you go through a cafeteria line, the salads are first, followed by the desserts, the meat presentations, the vegetables, and the drinks. I don’t want to sound negative, but I will recount my thoughts as I went through the line. 

I passed by the salads. I wasn’t in the mood for a salad. 

I wasn’t going to get a piece of pie, but sitting there looking at me with a happy face were lemon, strawberry, and chocolate pies. I looked at the offerings and noticed no whipped cream on the strawberry pies. 

None of the pies had whipped cream. I also felt like Gray Brother was practicing a little shrinkage on the pie size, but maybe I was wrong. It seemed smaller than the last time I was in the place. It’s happening in the grocery stores, keeping the cost the same as always but offering less for the same money. 

I decided to buy the pie, not knowing how much it would cost until I got to the register. ($5.50) Ouch. Yes, I will admit, when I looked at the bill, I thought, “Ouch.” They sure are proud of their strawberry pie without whipped cream.

I came to Gray’s for the Fried Chicken and Mashed Potatoes. I didn’t care what the chicken and spuds cost—I wanted them. I told the gal behind the counter to “slather” some brown gravy on “them there” mashed potatoes. I expected her to smile, maybe give me a wink, but much like a robot, she put two scoops of gravy on the potatoes, placed the plate on the counter, and moved away. What was I expecting? I guess I was expecting a little interaction with the server. 

Of course, management doesn’t want interaction. They have learned to get the “cattle” through the line quickly. Even the cashier was robotic—no emotion, no interaction with me, the customer. Is that a criticism? Not after seeing the old woman behind me in line; she had a face that could stop a clock and was all about moving the line.

DONNA AVERET WISEHART - BETTE WECHSLER - JUDY BRITTIN ONG - RUSS METZLER 

STEVE WINEGARDNER - JOHN KISSLING - MARTY KISSLING - CHUCK STUART. 

DUNCAN - DONNA AVERITT WISEHART - BETTE WECHSLER - JUDY BRITTON ONG - RUSS METZLER - STEVE WINEGARDNER - JOHN KISSLING - MARTY KISSLING - CHUCK STUART

I walked to one of the Grand Dining rooms. The group I was meeting had half-finished their meal. They call themselves BGNO, which stands for Boy’s Girl’s Night Out.  They meet at a different restaurant once a month. When I first started going with this marvelous group of people. I discovered restaurants I had never been to before. It’s a pleasant experience to dine with other people for lunch. You can find new places and restaurants in different parts of town that I never knew existed.  Listening to the conversation today turned political. The question of the cost of a meal at Gray’s raised its ugly head. Several folk felt Grays was too expensive, and one said,  “I’m not coming back here. It’s too far off the beaten path and way too expensive.”  As the group was breaking up, I cornered several of them and asked them to respond to a “Keyword” and give me the first thought that came into their mind. I said, “Grays Brother’s Cafeteria.”  “Pies.”  “Expensive.” “Pies.”  “Too far away.” “Fried Chicken.”  At Gray Brothers, cash is still king. I noticed a CC Conv charge of 3% at the bottom of the bill. Their Credit Card Service Provider must charge Gray Brothers 3% for processing credit cards, and Gray Brothers now pass along their fee to the customer. You can pay our fees if you want to use a credit card. Again, this is not meant as a criticism; I’m assuming that adding 3% to the cost of food would push the price of the food to a point where the dining room would become empty.  Inflation is rearing its ugly head everywhere. Normally, Gray Brothers has people standing in line out the door.  This is not a good look for Gray Brothers. I’ve never seen this place without a line going down and coming back.  Empty seats were everywhere. Many factors can contribute to a restaurant’s slow foot traffic on a Tuesday afternoon, but one has to wonder if inflation and the economy have anything to do with it. I plead guilty to thinking it does.