The Crossroads Dinor

Ursula cut this down a lot but here it is in its uncut glory:

Recently, the Crossroads Dinor closed its doors (again) for reasons that aren't quite clear at this point in time. There's a lot of whispers circulating in the community as to why. I was made aware of the situation via a link to GoErie. Apparently, the dinor has been in and out of operation for the past several months and not running the "winter hours" it advertises.

 

I know a lot of my friends are quick to talk trash on the dinor, but I enjoyed going there, from time to time. No, it wasn't exactly high class dining and it did have its flaws, but the atmosphere kept me coming back for more. I kept reappearing every few weeks, faithful to order the only place I knew in the immediate vicinity that carried an intriguing creation called the "Rachael" (no, not the haircut).

 

But I've been firsthand, like many people, to witness its sad downfall in recent years. And it's been heartbreaking. For any longtime resident of the area, the dinor meant so many things. It was a staple of Edinboro for decades. Even Dick Cheney, took in a cup of coffee there. Take a moment and savor that.

 

When I was little, my dad would take me and my brother out fishing. These trips were both adored and dreaded by me. I loved going out for breakfast beforehand; we never went out to breakfast otherwise. And even though breakfast food always made my stomach hurt, I still managed to enjoy the thick aroma of eggs and my dad's coffee that would tantalize my nostrils (it'd be years before I developed a taste for the latter). It was a privilege, a gift. Sometimes not so much, as when my dad made me cry because I failed to use the right utencil to eat my pancakes at a Cracker Barrel. I'll save that anecdote for my therapist, though.

But I have no unpleasant memories of Crossroads. Rather, the opposite. I remember the early morning sun pouring in through the converted trolley windows; I remember the ceiling fans spinning against the wood panelling. I remember the stained, laminated menus with the same old story of how the dinor came into existence and I remember the chocolate milk that I would always order, even though I'm lactose intolerant (I have a deathwish). These mornings seemed to be wrapped in the coatings of paradise; the gentle waitresses that would bring my brother his eggs and my dad his bacon and me my ... whatever.

 

Sure, the coatings of paradise were soon lost when we actually arrived at Edinboro Lake, where my father would then scream at us for "scaring the fish" (and we'd secretly wonder, um, aren't you just scaring them even more?)

 

I never managed to think about that icky part when I walked through the tiny gift shop, though, and looked for my name among the keychains. I'd smile and bathe in the moment.

 

Eventually my dad stopped taking us fishing. I don't remember why- he didn't have time or we didn't seem so interested anymore. I didn't go to the Crossroads Dinors for years. Especially, after in high school, I learned Edinboro was to be my fate.

 

Freshman year was the last call for the beloved old dinor. My friend Al and I went there to get dinner and I geeked out about everything, how it was just as I remembered. The giftshop and the menus and the ceiling fans. In my mind, I tried to recreate the images from my childhood. Maybe getting dinner there wasn't the same as a breakfast when the world was just waking up and everyone was on their best behavior.

 

They changed the gift shop to a bar. I think this was to be the beginning of the end. The loss of innocence. I remember thinking, doesn't Edinboro have enough bars? No more keychains. Just Miller Lite and nightly specials.

 

I remained a loyal customer to the dinor all throughout college and I cringed sometimes. I knew the service could be subpar and the food could leave something to be desired. But I loved the dinor. Loved it, like you love someone who would yell at you for scaring fish and not using utensils properly.

 

Even when it closed its doors for the first time and I would drive by to see unused Ketchup bottles sitting in the windows, as if waiting for someone to just come and squirt them on their eggs.

 

It was heartbreaking to see the same thing happen again. I knew the dinor was headed off the skids; there'd been curious mentions over time, rumors of weird happenings behind those kitchen doors.

 

"LA LA LA," I would say to these people, hands on ears. "I CAN'T HEAR YOU. GO EAT AN OMELETTE AT PERKIN'S." 

 

I knew, though, there was considerable merit to their words. And it pained me!

 

Nothing being said against the owners of the past several years or over the duration off the dinor's on-again, off-again lifespan. Owning and operating a business is rough work. I just hope to see the Crossroads Dinor spring back into existence. And I hope to see it not be the butt of jokes anymore or written up for numerous health code violations. I hope to see its reputation restored, so people can go and enjoy their breakfasts or dinners or even just a drink with a few friends after a long day of classes or work. Edinboro needs something like the dinor, welcoming people as they cruise in on 6N. There needs to be lights on in the trolley, people inside like there were for such a long time.

 

I would be there, surely, scouring the menu for the "Rachael" thing (it is heaven, please eat one at some point).
 

Who knows, maybe I'd even go fishing afterwards.