Mrs. Sneed and I had another blast from the past last night. We were eating dinner at a Mexican restaurant down the street when our favorite server told us that they are closing next week and the place is being remodeled into a damn sports bar. I can say with certainty that the world does not need another sports bar. This particular restaurant was a Bob's Big Boy location about 40-odd years ago. That's where the blast from the past part comes in. Big Boy was once a really big deal in the world of casual dining, but the years haven't been kind. There are few Big Boy's left and none in Arizona. During the summer of 1968, I was fresh out of high school and in need of a job. I needed some dough so that I could get out of my folks house, or madhouse, to be specific. I had just quit my previous job, working as a roofer for a guy named Eddie. It only took me a few days of slopping hot tar on the roof of a shopping center in the June heat to realize that roofing was for the birds. Plus as bosses went, Eddie wasn't the easiest to work for. Anyway, I wandered down to this Big Boy location and applied for a job. Before you know it, I was washing dishes. I would like to brag and say I was making a sweet $1.25 per hour, but Mrs. Sneed says I'm exaggerating. She says it was less. Of course, the guys who owned the Big Boy franchise knew an up and comer when they saw one and my stay in the dish room was brief. I was bumped up to the kitchen, as a trainee fry cook. After a few weeks they transferred me to another location a few miles away and it is there that I met the lovely Mrs. Sneed. The rest is history, as they say. Sports bar...yuck. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky