As one of the many people who work on Music Row who feel it’s a good idea to get out of the office for lunch once in a while, I often find it hard to find a place that other people haven’t found as well. Since I’m not crazy about waiting forever for food, I rarely visit sit-down restaurants. Generally, between the waiter/waitress being mysteriously absent, the almost ordering, the waiting for everyone to know what they want, the real ordering, the food arriving some time later, I end up taking about an hour and a half for lunch when I prefer to take about half an hour.

So, today when one of my coworkers responded to my poll of what’s up for lunch with Dan McGuinness for Fish and Chips, I was a little hesitant. Okay, actually, not hesitant at all because I was starving, but in other cases I would’ve been quite hesitant.

The ride over to Dan McGuiness was short, in fact we probably should’ve just walked but the sky was threatening rainfall and I really didn’t want to muss my hair.

Leaving a little early paid off when we arrived, finding only a couple of seats in the whole place occupied. The three of us (we picked up an extra on the way out) grabbed a table next to a big open window letting us feel the breeze off the roundabout while we grabbed our food.

If you ask me, that’s a fine portion for five bucks. While the plate may look a little empty in the pic, in reality it was both a very large plate and a very large portion. Rarely do I not finish my food, but today I actually left a bit of fish behind. *sniff*

The waitress was great, not over attentive or under, and very direct in getting things done.

Dan McGuiness is a fine place for a quick lunch too, I was surprised to find. From the time I stood up from my desk to when I returned to my desk was about 40 minutes. Definitely worth a go once every couple of weeks, I think.

Though they’re probably known more for their backed house at night and stage in the back, Dan McGuiness is a pretty sweet spot for a quick sit down lunch that is Music Row friendly — if you get there early.

http://www.danmcguinnesspub.com/nashville/

When I stepped up to the door to my place today on my way back in from Echo I was greeted by a package slip from the United States Postal Service letting me know that while I had missed the postal worker, I could pick up the package or have my agent pick up the package. Seeing as how I didn’t have any sentient agents handy (though I do keep a selection of cleaning agents), I decided to make the trip to the post office immediately. After all, the package they held for me was a very important one.

Before I go on, I’d like for you as the reader to evaluate the use of the word “agent” as they have it. I mean, sure, in grandiose speeches and literature someone might be the agent of peace or an agent of evil, but an agent of a previously absent package recipient? Why not, “You or someone you choose may pick up your package?” Not that I would made employing someone as an agent of my will, retrieving for me those things which my burdensome life prevents me from retrieving for myself. Maybe the technical writer who wrote that blurb knew that someone somewhere would see the literary genius behind its use.

Back on the topic however, I left my place again and drove the short way to the post office. To my interest, I parked between a beaten up Mustang and a newer model Porsche Carrera 4S. The rest of the parking lot filled the gaps between the $2,000 Mustang and the $80,000 Porsche, but I found it odd to note that all the cars were in the same place at the same time. Where else but the post office would you find such a mix of people brought together to take part in the same kind of business?

As I entered the clerked area inside, I found myself in line with a guy in his late teens sporting dyed black hair, very tight pants, and a large box to be sent. In front of him a massive woman was waiting with her child, assumably to pick up a package. At the front of the line a handsome (if balding) late-40-something guy stood wearing pressed slacks and a sport jacket. I can only assume that he was the Porsche driver–he had the right air of money, frustrated vanity, and middle-crisis eligibility.

The clerks were equally heterogeneous. The man who took my card and got my package for me was in his early forties at least and was built like a weight lifter, but seemed to me obviously gay. To his left, a female clerk was speaking very green English riddled with slang and subject-verb mashups that only sound natural when spoken by a true Southerner. Her hair was long, wavy, and generally unkempt. To my eye, she had the ring of one who found her identity in the 80s and never reevaluated. At the last counter, I spied a tall, dark-skinned man in a nice suit passing envelopes back with a woman wearing a well-puffed Victoria Beckham do (I’m sad to report she lacked VB’s fie-on-gravity breasts).

I have, since I left there, been trying to come up with a scenario in which that same group of people might find themselves together for a common set of services. Grocery shopping? Maybe half the people, but I can’t recall the last time I saw a Porsche parked in front of Kroger or Wal-Mart. A funeral? Seems unlikely that the listed people would share a common enough social circle for that. Perhaps a sporting event might bring them together, though I doubt that the young guy would make it out to something like that. So, as the title mentions, I think the USPS has a unique ability to bring members of disparate groups under one roof. I can’t say I felt energized by the exposure or that I gained some broadened world view from it, but it was at least interesting to see that people, when their differences are inconsequential to the task at hand, can peacefully co-wait in line and serve or be served.