Baked Applebee’s

Friday night Gary and I decided (at the unGodly hour of 9 pm) to go out to dinner and, of course, Starbucks. We got to the Saint Louis Bread Company (aka Panera) and found it closed at 9. (Because who eats at 9 on a Friday?) We decided to tool across the street to the Applebee’s.

We noticed the Applebee’s sign was dark. Huh? we said. What the – Applebee’s closes at 9 too? Is this some type of chain restaraunt holiday?

Gary said, “Maybe the sign’s just broken. Look and see if there are lights on.”

And lo, there were not. Because My Friendly Neighborhood Applebee’s had burned to the ground. Cooked, toasted, flambe-ed, char-broiled to the ground.

I was back there today (as I said, right across from Starbucks), and there was light, so I took some photos:

Just like Friday night, it smelled acrid. Like Friday night, there was a helpful sign:

There was one thing missing since Friday (or possibly more): looters. Or scavengers. As we clambered around the rubble Friday, we came upon a family rooting through the ruins and toting crap away to put in their truck. A family! An entire family. Of course, it is a family restaraunt. And I imagine now that their basement, newly decorated in the Early Applebee’s period, smells acrid. Not dead-corpse acrid, though. Happily, no one died in the fire, and the only injury came from a police car on the scene backing into a policeman.

Finally, here was one thing we found today that hadn’t been there Friday:

Poor GM of the store. Man, what a way to lose your material attachments. I bet those bastard looters got his Buddha.