I’m feeling rather punk. As if we didn’t know already how deep our nation’s economic woes were, the local paper drove the point home like a railroad spike to the skull. In case anyone missed the story, I’ll report it in a shortened version.
Krystal is looking to sell itself to a new owner. The corporate leaders say the company is “looking for a way to deliver an attractive exit for current shareholders who have been so supportive.”
Huh? What’s the deal with making things “comfortable” for shareholders? Although not a single share is in the Rector vault, I’m not at all comfortable. Looking to unload a company that represents one of the main food groups for southerners shouldn’t bring ease in anyone’s life. Krystal has 364 franchises in 11 states. Before long, a new owner will take over, and I’ll bet dollars to doughnuts that they’ll start a wholesale shutdown of stores. Before long, finding a Krystal might be as difficult as finding a Blue Circle or Jiffy.
The selling of such a hallowed institution is indicative of the problems in the USA. The two founders, Rody Davenport, Jr. and J. Glenn Sherrill, opened the first store. Yes, that’s right; they set up shop in the middle of The Depression. The first customer walked in and ordered six Krystals and a cup of coffee and paid thirty-five cents. The restaurant gave folks who were down on their luck a chance to eat a filling meal at a fair price.
Fast forward nearly eighty years, and our country is so screwed up that a business that began in the worst economic situation of our history is on the auction block. More than 7000 employees are shaking in their boots as they worry over the company’s future and whether or not they’ll be out of a job soon.
Since my high school years, Krystal has been an important part of my life. On those nights when too much libation passed my lips, I’d often find myself sitting on a stool in a Krystal and ordering breakfast. Eggs and bacon and toast soaked up enough grease to clog every artery, but the thoughts of those foods late at night still make my mouth water.
As young adults, my two brothers and I would sit around the kitchen table at Mother’s house and talk until the early morning hours. Then we loaded into a car and drove to Clinton Highway where we’d buy two or three bags of Krystals and fries. Only after eating no fewer than half a dozen of them did we make our ways to bed.
I’ve passed my love for those gut bombs to son Dallas, and he often makes a stop at the Krystal less than a mile from his house (lucky dog). What’s more, the boy lives in Chattanooga, the home base for the company, as well as for another famous food company—Moonpie.
The past few years have brought about a change in my eating habits. Acid reflux dictates much of my diet. However, occasionally, I risk the malady and run out for a few little hamburgers. A nickel won’t buy one anymore; prices have risen to an average of seventy-nine cents for each of the little grease balls. A bowl of chili also sometimes finds its way in my bag of food. Before lying down for the night, I pop a Nexium and say a prayer that the rumbling volcano in my gut won’t erupt.
Yes, I’m plenty worried about the country and our economic well-being. If the creators of the original “slider” struggles in this environment, the light at the other end of the recession tunnel is no larger than a pinpoint. The time has come for our so-called leaders in the legislative branch to forget about partisan politics and ideology. Govern so that Americans have jobs and a fair shake. Make sure every individual pays his fair share in support of the government. That way, all of us will be able to afford a bag of Krystals if the restaurants are still open.
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