Grits

As I was getting ready for work, I remembered that I had not written a DART-Tales entry recently. I reasoned it was because I had not actually witnessed anything lately about which I felt compelled to write. However, little did I know, things were about to change...

The last person to board the bus I was riding that morning was a man who sat in one of the aisle-facing seats. I sat in one of the first row front facing seats. Besides a duffel bag, he carried a small Styrofoam container. I figured he must have his breakfast or a snack of some kind.  As the bus takes off, he whips out a fork, opens his container and starts eating—grits! Yep—grits!!

Now let me just say that I absolutely LOVE grits! I grew up in the south—so for me, nothing is better than a bowl of hot grits, with butter and salt (none of that sugar stuff that Texans are famous for!). Of course, if you throw on some nicely seasoned shrimp in a nice garlic butter sauce that takes it to another level! Now, there are "No Eating" signs on DART buses and trains; but the brother blew that to the wind and dug in like he as at his mom’s kitchen table!

I should probably interject a prayer for forgiveness here, because as he was eating, I was definitely lusting for a Styrofoam container of my own. He ate several forks full of the grits and closed the container. I was glad that distraction ended. However, I know they must have been good, because after about 10 minutes, he opened the container again and went in for the kill!

I quickly realized that the grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup I had for dinner the night before was long gone and I was hungry! He ate a few more forks full then closed the container again.  Now I am praying—not for forgiveness, but that he does not torture me by opening that darn container a third time! By now, I am actually staring at him…and he’s oblivious to my stares because he’s staring at the grits!

We made it to downtown and he got off the bus at Main & Lamar and headed towards the DART rail. I figure he would definitely finish them off if riding the train to his destination. By the time he arrived, the grits would simply be a memory!

I rarely get breakfast from the restaurant in my building. However, as I entered the building that morning, I made a beeline for the escalator—and the restaurant. I was hoping (no praying) they had grits on the menu…

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