REVIEW: The Hop Stop

The sun, the great orb in the sky which gives us nearly everything, had been covered up - in some places partially, in others completely. The darkness surrounded us all, reminding each and every spectator of our own impending darkness. The world can only give us so much time, and the sun can only give the earth so much time in return. Hear you me - each of us is doomed. We all shall perish. Everything we know, love, hate, experience, and whatever else will go with us. Maybe not at the exact same time, but, then again, if the eclipse taught us anything, it is that we are all part of a greater cycle over which we have no control. So, maybe all of these fleeting things we hold dear will go with us at the same time, and with them everyone and everything else. It was with this in mind that I found myself at the Hop Stop in East Nashville off of Gallatin. Of course, by then the sun had returned, and we were all left to bask in the unknown, and perhaps even the known. The day's universal event had left me ravenous and gloomy.

Once situated in a table by the window - which I of course chose due to my own need to keep an eye on the sun, as I did not want it to go anywhere without my knowledge - I perused the pages long beer menu, my eyes glazing over with each different category. I settled on something German. But beer was not important. Life was not important. Was it ever? I jest. Of course it has never been.



I was too focused on my paranoid delusion that the sun was going to vanish again, but without warning the next time. I thought of all the things important to me. My family, my friends, and my sexual relationship with former Secretary of State John Kerry. I thought about what he must've been thinking during the eclipse. He always has an interesting take, but it usually involves some sort of liberal gobbledygook that has gone unchecked in his little bubble world for years and years. Imagine, a lifetime of being a sensitive little swift boat, draft dodging, Vietnam-fearing, failed presidential aspiration holding shell of a man. Dole was never like that, but our relationship was much different. I digress.



When my beer came to my table I found myself completely blindsided by being asked if I knew what food I would like to order. I mean, seriously? A hot dogger like me, or really any every-man low level hot dog casual needs at least forty-five minutes, maybe even an hour, to get a serious grasp on the menu. I need to know precisely what it is they are going for at these doggeries. The Hop Stop seemed to be aiming for the high brow, coastal elite type of place. You know, limousine liberals and all that whiny "everyone has rights in America" type of thing that some of these more modern hot dog shops are trying to shove down our throats. I politely, but sternly, told the waitress to come back in a half hour when I was good and ready. And, true to her liberal bias, she said "of course" and kindly walked away without another thought. Unbelievable, these people. I mean, what was she going to do next, give away their food scraps for the night to a local homeless shelter? Ha! Maybe she was going to say that everyone, regardless of race, religion, sexual orientation, class, and background is entitled to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness? I had a good chuckle knowing that I was sticking it to her by simply buying an American product - the hot dog.

Some time passed. She came back. I order the Chicago dog, which was a no brainer. It's the finest dog to truly test the waters of a new hot dog establishment. She went back to put my order in while I watched some of the regulars, all of whom support establishment democrats and want to put every American out of work by hiring illegals (I assume), play darts. These wimpy children couldn't even hit the dart board. One of them had to get their father to show them how to throw a dart. I should disclose, however, that I was taught to throw darts in my early twenties during one of my many passion filled weekends at the summer home of a certain Iran-Contra Crisis patsy who I will not name. I have since become quite good at it.




Soon enough, my hot dog was ready. The onion, relish, and hot peppers gleamed on the basket. The chips on the side scattered across the paper with the delicate touch of a masterful culinary artist. This is all to say that I was quite impressed with the presentation, and that is not even halfway how impressed I was with the overall quality of the dog. So much care and love had been put into this wiener. It was as if God Himself, the most all powerful being in the universe, had put all of His love into it and jammed it into my mouth. I begged again and again for God to bring the wiener to my mouth, as I could no longer resist it. Before I knew it, it was all gone. Just like everything else in my miserable life. I was reminded of everything I loved that had been taken away from, or just flat out left, me. So many reminders of the cruel hands of fate. It seems as though this world has taken lifetimes from me, then, for some unidentifiable and cruel reason, given them back and taken them all over again. I shut people out. I forget them. I abuse their love, their trust, their respect. And for what? I know, though, that it is not my fault. It is the fault of hardworking immigrants who have taken opportunities from we about which I never even knew or thought.



My gaze was positioned back to the sun, now disappearing over the horizon, through the lens of the Hop Stop window. Would it be back again? Perhaps I was selfish for even asking. Although, in the free market, there is no such thing as selfishness, only hard work. I knew my hard work could bring back the sun. I knew benefiting from the exploitation of decent people who come to this country only to have the same shot at a regular life we all enjoy was to be my life's work. And, as the dusk turned to complete darkness for the second time of the day, I wept tears of joy. I knew this wiener had changed me.