Sometimes a Dead Mouse Falls from the Ceiling: A Morality Tale

We mapped out three places to vacation, first stop being Washington’s Olympic Peninsula.

We secured lodging and decided on one must-do hike.

Other than that, we weren’t quite sure what we’d find along the way. We’re not exactly the great explorers of the 15th century, but we’re not ready for the AARP bus tour either.

Our first night found us in Port Angeles, WA, driving a rented SUV and hungry for seafood.

Spoiler Alert: If you’re ever in this port town and want delicious calamari, DO NOT EAT at Smuggler’s Landing.

A two-story warehouse restaurant on the waterfront looked local, good and cheap. Inside, the place was dark, dead quiet and empty – like maybe all of the customers were tied up in a back room. Dining tables and a blaring ESPN called us upstairs.

On tip-toes, we half-expected to find a crazed waiter waving a gun. Instead, a thump from directly behind, made me whirl and clutch my chest. There on the floor was a twitching, writhing mouse – fallen from the ceiling tiles.

A nerve-damaged rodent isn’t exactly a ringing restaurant endorsement – especially two feet from the kitchen.

I couldn’t help but wonder if all the customers had suffered the same fate –poisoned and tossed to the floor.

A waiter beckoned, but providence directed us away from certain food-borne illness and across the street to another place we’d rejected as too much of a Denny’s look alike.

Turns out, the Port Angeles Crab Shack was perfect: beautiful views, good food, local wine, and not a rat in sight.

Moral: Just try things and if they don’t work out, try something else. But for god’s sake, don’t just lie there and twitch.