Just when you thought the heat was off, things here started to sizzle like a slab of spam on a cast iron griddle.

Let me explain.

In my last post I shared the tale of how we fled New Jersey in the middle of the night, and temporarily ended up in an off-the-grid bunker in the mountains surrounding Virginia’s beautiful Shenandoah Valley.

A bit of time passed and my mom was no longer on the Fed’s “Most Wanted” list for shooting that drone with her slingshot. This meant we could venture out of our Blue Ridge Mountain hideout.

It also meant an increased chance of getting into trouble.

One early spring day my mom came out of the root cellar with an arm full of pickled beets and tofu jerky. These delectable (but possibly moldy) items would normally have my veggie-loving dad drooling like a bulldog at the take-out window of White Castle. Not this time.

“Save those for supper. I’m taking you out to lunch.”

Food that someone else was cooking? He didn’t have to tell my mom twice. In about five seconds she was in that car waiting, with me tagging along.

He took off, following the speed limit (which here is not a mere suggestion), and headed to town. Eventually he turned into a rather crowded parking lot.

My mom looked out the window. “Golden Corral? You’re taking me to Golden Corral for lunch? Since when do you like all-you-can-eat buffets? We lose money when you eat at buffets.”

“You don’t understand,” my dad said, the excitement rising in his voice. “They have EVERYTHING! Even vegetables! A dessert table! A senior discount! And we make up the money when you get third helpings.”

Fortunately, my mom’s trusty, cast iron skillet was back at the bunker.

They got out of the car and a look of horror came over my dad’s face. A bus was parked by the front door and about forty seniors were lined up to go in – all with walkers. Some with fuzzy slippers.

“We’ll see about this,” he muttered, dragging my mom – and her big LL Bean tote bag where I was hiding – along with him towards the front door.

“Hang on,” she said, “my legs are stiff.”

Making sure no one was watching, he nudged the back of her knee. It buckled a bit and she squealed out in surprise.

“Honey, what’s wrong? Is it your hip?” he said very loudly. “Oh no, my wife is hurt and having trouble walking. Coming through! Look out!” And, in mere seconds, he navigated us to the front of the line, in front of the walker brigade, and pulled out his wallet.

“Two seniors for the lunch buffet.” My mom glared at him.

About 45 minutes later he was working on his second helping of dessert. “Ahem. Sir?” My dad looked up. A manager was standing above him, staring at his plate. “Rice Krispie treat?” my dad offered.

“I’m not sure where y’all are from, but, around here, we don’t do that kind of thing.” A moment later the manager whipped out his camera and snapped a photo of my dad. “And you sure won’t be doing it again. You are officially banned from all Golden Corrals.”

“Can I get food to go?”

“You’ll have to pay per pound.” With a flourish the manager swiped my dad’s overflowing plate of dessert from beneath his nose and walked away with it.

My mom kept eating. “I’m not banned. After all, you assaulted me. I’m going to finish my pot roast.” I had to agree with her logic.

So, what does this mean for you?

Hopefully not a whole lot. I mean, you probably already know it’s not a good idea to shoot down government spy drones or cut in line at a restaurant. It’s not exactly rocket science.

But, if you do pull a stunt like that at your local buffet, skip the salad and get right to the good stuff. Before management catches up with you and ruins your meal.