I have a secret shame. I sometimes enjoy dining at venues with very little class such as services clubs and the like. Venues chock-a-block full of bad décor, pokie machines and a slow-shuffling zombie-like patronage. Some days I like to take a trip into the tacky mundane and have a hot meal at Twin Towns. I generally don’t like to stay too long because watching the hordes of dribbling elderly people filing into the room stacked with pokie machines make you want to do destructive things with a fire-axe. Plus, I can only take so much velour. Still, a good ham-steak is hard to find.
The last time I went to Twin Towns I was involved in a little incident. I was waiting in line at the food counter for my much anticipated ham-steak (my wife likes the schnitzel) and noticed a little old lady standing in front of me. The server asked the old lady if she wanted something and got no response. She then abruptly collapsed. To this day I don’t know how I managed to catch her because I vividly remember being fixated with a poster informing me that a John Farnham impersonator would be performing later that month. I went from staring vacantly at the wall to suddenly cradling an octogenarian who felt as light as a bird in my outstretched arms. The old dear had been playing the pokie machine and hadn't eaten in more than 6 hours, apparently. I guess the lure of the ham-steak was stronger than the appeal of addictive gambling.
She was okay, by the way. Just a little hungry.