True story.
Once upon a time, there was a mild uprising in 1940s Dallas, wherein the womenfolk grew tired of the menfolk getting to have all the fun when they would visit a drive-up restaurant. It wasn’t fair that the men got to ogle scantily-clad female servers who would roller-skate up the cars, proffering a tray of edibles on their ample bosoms. Why couldn’t the women get some eye candy as well?
Sure, it was, as mentioned, the 1940s, and women were doomed to second-class status, a position they would hold until the Trump Administration demoted them to third-class. Equality was rarely something that was given any degree of consideration when it came to capitalism. Still, there was a market out there, if only it could be adequately plundered for profit, which is the American Way.
Cue the owner of the “Log Lodge Tavern” (a moniker that is rather eye-opening considering what followed), a man who ignored the pattern of male behavior at the time and actually listened to the women. He hired a bevy of bodacious college men to work as carhops at his drive-up establishment. Business boomed and the gambit was a terrific success. Well, mostly. There were also protests, because this took place in Texas, a land where much of the population is terrified of progress.
Interestingly enough, many of the protestors were women. Women who were perfectly fine with girls in hula skirts and coconut bras serving beer and bratwurst at nearby drive-ups, but they had an issue with men serving the same whilst sporting satin short-shorts and cowboy boots. This may be risky to say, but part of the problem with achieving equal parity in this country is that some of the disenfranchised buy into their own disenfranchisement.
Why, you may ask, am I including this bit of history in the Corona Chronology? Well, it’s because we’re on lockdown, and I’m unable to visit the Log Lodge Tavern. Granted, said tavern is long gone, but I did a bit of research and I know where it was located. (Right across from Love Field airport. You know, the place where JFK made his last landing as president.) In less-restricted times, I could at least park near the memory and envision a brief moment in history when innocence and titillation coalesced.
Because the boys in the photo are cute. (Those thigh muscles!)
I would have ordered every item on the menu, one thing at a time.
Then again, that’s how I approach all options in life. Savor each moment, and then refresh the page.
Cheers.
Note: Although this is an actual photo from the glory days of the Log Lodge Tavern, the ownership of the photo is in dispute, so I am unable to credit a proper source. This is what happens when one plunders the Internet incessantly in the wee hours of the morning.
Categories: Humor
Bonnywood Manor 
Yes one bite at a time . Thigh muscles skimpy shorts and cowboy boots ah ….
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Relish the small things until we figure out how to deal with the big… 😉
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Amen 🙂
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I’m not digging the cowboy boots with the short shorts. Maybe their calf muscles are too big?? I dont know… the shorts are a look we can all appreciate but the boots gotta go.
I am a great admirer of the male physique and the female physique. All things equal😉
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I’m sure my infatuation with the cowboy boots is just a leftover bit of trauma from my Oklahoma younger years and my Texas older years. Still, whatever the cause, the infatuation is still real, and there’s just some palpitating about a man who knows how to wear his boots…
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‘Sir, might I offer you a cooling beverage? We offer Nehi- in light of the flashing patellas shown luridly in the the photograph, that’s a given. Any flavour except orange, you say? Since a sad day in 2016, we understand. That puts the Big Red out of the equation as well, then. The hell with it, have a beer instead.’
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Perfect contribution to the dialogue. It’s like you were there. Wait a minute… do you own a pair of cowboy boots? Do you need to share something?… 😉
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Snakeskin boots, silver spurs, and that’s all I’m sayin’.
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i love this so much, i consider it a win-win for all of us. the name alone is amazing. and then –
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Right? The name just kills me. Well, it’s one of the things. The woman in the car seems overly-giddy about the view and the service. It’s sweet and innocent and real…
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Yes -)
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“Savor each moment and then refresh the page”- That´s how my mind works.
By the way I got nominated for a Liebster award so thought about you to pass to as a nominee, so you can pass to others and the rest.
Just writing it now, probably post it later in the day in case you are interested.
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Hey, thanks for the nom. I think I might have missed the post (or I wasn’t paying full attention to the post), so I’d best jump back into your roller coaster of a blog and take another gander… 😉
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I remember women on skates, but never saw men in cowboy boots. My loss.
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Well, you can make up for the loss by heading to your nearest cowboy gay bar and watching the booted men on the dance floor shuffle about. It’s fascinating… 😉
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How is it possible this wasn’t a success? I think you should resurrect it… raise your own log, so to speak.
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Trust, I’m looking into it… 😉
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Interesting history.
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It certainly is. I love it when the bar tables get turned, so to speak…
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Hi Brian, thanks for the post. A little bit of history, When i was age 15, and 16 I was a car hop. The restaurant franchise was called White Spot. I looked quite dapper in my green pants, yellow shirt, green jacket and green hat. I should find a picture. 🙂 All that walking back and forth did keep me fit despite a regular diet of hamburgers and ketchup. When the lot was slow I would juggle the little ketchup cups while waiting for a car to turn on its headlights. The trays were long, green and went inside the car stretching from window to window. I remember how heavy those darn little china teapots were. But in the summer there was strawberry pie. I worked not far from stanley park in vancouver, and after a two hour shift to cover the busy lunch, I would have 5 hours off to spend relaxing in the sun at the park (salty air of the pacific ocean) and then back to work from 7 to 12. In the summer it was quite normal for me to be gone from 10 am to 1 am. Thanks for the memories !
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Those were the days in Vangroovy. I used to go to the White Spot on Broadway and still haven’t figured out how the girls (they were all girls, from Kits High) handled those long trays. White Spot is still around but it’s not the same. Thanks for the memories.
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The White Spot really isn’t what it used to be, for sure. Kind of a pale imitation.
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All: Okay, I apparently missed out on a significant cultural aspect of Vancouver. Which I guess isn’t surprising, considering that I’ve never been there…
David: You simply MUST find a photo. You may not want to share it on your own blog, but you can surreptitiously send it my way so I can give it the full Bonnywood treatment. Names will be changed, of course, to protect the remnants of your chastity…
WD: Vangroovy, eh? I am now officially infatuated with that nickname. But I must confess that, with your “long tray” references, you are actually speaking about something else entirely. Perhaps that’s me…
Lynette: And you were there as well? Where have you NOT been? Said with admiration, not suspicion or accusation… 😉
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Them boots, tho!
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Right? Scary yet sexy. Or maybe that’s just me… 😉
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No, I’m definitely with you on that!
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My my my. Lone Star anyone?
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I would suspect that those stars weren’t lone after the lodge closed down for the evening…
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Love the Boys in the Boots!
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Always a place in my heart…
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I have to agree with King Ben’s Grandma. The boots and short shorts are not a good look. But then again, I shouldn’t be too picky about the footwear. Those legs!! 😉
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Yep, it’s the legs. Because those boots aren’t going to be in the picture for long…
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Okay, I can see how their legs are fine, but… um… yeah, I’m just not getting it. Now, had they been shirtless, well, that’s a whole other matter.
In that case, I would have been there daily.
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Oh, let’s be real. You’re the one in the car, hoping your delicate forefinger touches his manly thumb during the soda-bottle hand-off… 😉
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