I was there that Saturday night when it flashed in and out of existence, one of hundreds of thousands of events that takes place in some American diner on a Saturday night, after most of the older people have gone home to watch TV for a bit before going to bed, and the college kids and some of the intrepid high school age crowd are hanging out looking to spend a piece of time, or get a piece of ass. I was off shift after delivering pizzas, and looking to fill my stomach before going to sleep in the back seat of my car on some back road where I would not be discovered by anyone who would mind. me quietly passing a night for some rest.
The Flaming Yammy was invented by the noisiest of five guys at the next table, who mixed the remnants of a coke, a coffee, a Sunkist, and an ice tea with half a bottle of Tabasco Sauce in a tumbler, then dared anyone of his group to drink it. Nobody took him up on it. They were all sober. After a bit of conversation, they soon left the Flaming Yammy, its colors dulled through the brown plastic drinkware on the table. I smirked at the thought of it, finished my crap on a plate, and paid and left.
Though I pretty well remember the recipe, I have never tried a Flaming Yammy. Sat there alone at that next table, I could sort of relate to it. I was a mix of all good things, but poured together in a concoction that should never have been in a single vessel. I was a father, an ex-husband, worker, a college student, paying my debts, my alimony, my child support, spending my time at work and school and visitations while trying to keep up on homework. My cup was full, and there was not room for more. There was plenty of Tabasco Sauce to gurgle the tummy, and upset the rest of the Yammy.
When the table was bused, the Yammy was thrown into the dish collection tub without a second glance. Clearly, this diner had seen its share of Flaming Yammy-like concoctions. My cup was soon tossed in the tub too, everything spilled out and splashed about in a waste bin, and forgotten. That memory and a student debt are what I have got to show for the night of the Flaming Yammy. It should all be forgotten, but some of the strangest things in life persist for far longer than it should.