My uncle (aged 53) and grandmother (aged 71) set to meet with me at the westside Cracker Barrel at 10am on November 11th, 2025. I arrived at 9:50 and waited in my car. Already bracing myself for the madhouse. Not seeing them otherwise I go in on the hour and shuffle my way to stand in the line to put your name down. My phone rings.
“Hello Cory its your grandmother [no shit]. Are you parked yet?”

“Yes. I’m in line.”

“It looks very busy.” She says with undisguised matronly woe.

“Yes.”

“Well we’re parked in the back, far by the trees. Trying to look for somewhere else.”

“Ok I’ll come meet you”

I get to my uncles vehicle and neither look peeved, just in awe. What the hell did they expect? On veteran’s day, in the morning, at god forsaken cracker barrel, on the republican side of town. Its overflowing with geezers. Out the whazoo. I can smell the organ failure. I can hear the plant and wheeze of a cane barer. Pooled like stuffed animals onto the classic rocking chairs that line the entrance.

She fumbles on her phone. My uncle says nothing as I enter the backseat. She rattles off a list of who on god’s earth knows where, checking their google star rating and tsking about how many miles away things. She leans towards one, and I, following on my own device, point out they are closed. Her baffled face looks deep into mine. After a few minutes they decide that it would take just as long to go somewhere else as to just wait here.

We enter and get in the line to put our names down. Actually I noted on the way in, a big dodge truck having trays of food being unloaded into the back kitchen but I dared not mention this. My grandmother has very particular food preparation considerations, despite the condition of her own kitchen. It damned better be hot, fresh, and more sterile than an operating room.

I peruse the novelty shop that puts Cracker Barrel above the average pancake flip house. Who can bare to buy this shit? Cheaply made, toys, following weird trends and nostalgia baiting. Absolute crap. Then I catch grandma legitimately considering purchasing a few items. Including a dress she seems astonished could be found in this place. When the hell will she ever wear that? I can see the stitches coming undone. One wash cycle tops before the Chinese plasti-fibers degrade into our water table. My uncle sits outside. I join him. What a disgusting testament to over zealous consumerism.

We laugh about L. Ron Hubbard and Starship troopers. We look with distaste at the homeless people on the busy street. The honking cars. I not that 1 in 3 vehicles are large American trucks, 1 in 3 are big SUVs, and the rest are rust buckets or sports cars. What in the world are we doing? As a society, as a species? What does Cracker Barrel mean. A guy and his wife roll up on a army green tricycle with US ARMY painted onto it. Wearing his little boots and leather jacket. He could have a real shot if they ever want to make another hobbit movie. I’m sure he’s wearing a big gun in those otherwise empty trousers.

And don’t forget it is Veterans day. The ones not panhandling over there are inside this building consuming slop from a trough. I held the door open for a guy, as one would do in a normative situation, and he looked at me like I owed it to him. Looking around at all the guys in hats and their cow like pleading dull eyes looking at me for validation. I’ve had veterans in my family. I’ve got vet and in service friends. The only ones I’d consider a “thanks for your service” are the Vietnam guys (I assume they were drafted against their will) and the World War blokes if any of them are still kicking. The propaganda machine and monetary benefits tempt many. And I respect it in most cases. But they missed me on the boot licker gene or something and no shot am I bowing in a damn cracker barrel. When the society you ‘protected’ is just swine swill and new seasons of the Mandalorian. Sorry pal. Should’ve planted gardens.

The food was shit. Grandma’s was cold but she refrained from sending it back, and decided to just complain directly to us. $80 down the drain after tip. 2 hours of my day gone and turned to anger. My grandfather, her husband and uncles dad, who was a veteran (air force pharmacy staff don’t get your panties wadded), died on veterans day. Not a word mentioned about him.

I wish the day meant something. I wish America and the world and the freedom protectors meant something. But its just another excuse to spend money and time with the old. Before they perish, and no one cares in a few years anyway.