Perhaps you heard about the Furr’s thing. There was a Furr’s Fresh Buffet off LBJ and S. Hampton. It closed. Councilman Dwaine Caraway is not happy about that. He said:
“That Furr’s was doing mega-business. Mega-business. And it closed out of nowhere. People showed up for work and didn’t know it was closed. And you know I am not happy about it. I am shocked, unhappy and disappointed. I am real ticked about it. We participate and patronized it, and overnight it’s taken away from us. It’s like giving a kid a special computer game for Christmas, and all of the sudden he comes home and it’s taken away from him.”
I feel his pain — but in a slightly different way. Depending on the season and my mood, when a Furr’s closes …
It’s like giving a dog a chew toy that looks like something that a dog would really want to chew on but tastes like something that dogs hate.
It’s like giving a high-five to a friend, except right before you slap hands, you pull back and run your fingers through your hair, leaving that friend hanging.
It’s like telling your 8-year-old daughter that she can invite a friend to have a sleepover but then stipulating that she and her friend will have to replace the blower fan in the furnace before they can play Lego Friends and watch a movie.
It’s like rolling down your window as a street beggar approaches and then handing him a fistful of State Fair coupons.
It’s like you’re Mr. Play It Safe and you’re afraid to fly, but you go ahead and pack your suitcase and kiss your wife goodbye because you’ve waited your whole damn life to take that flight, and then, as the plane is going down, you think, “Well isn’t this nice?”
