Needle in a Haystack

We couldn’t decide whether or not we should go in. Although the sign in the window said “Open,” another one directly beside it read “For Sale”. Peeking in the window I could see gold plastic booths that lined the room and an old timey milkshake mixer behind the counter. It was the epitome of the 1950’s hangout spot – just like the set in the movie Diner. Might as well give it a shot, we thought.
There was an old jukebox at the back of the restaurant, which had been updated with some songs from the ‘90’s. Looking at the faded paintings lining the walls, it was then I noticed an elderly couple sitting in a booth beside me. Silently, the woman got up and walked behind the counter to turn the lights on. We apologized awkwardly, feeling as though we had intruded, though she gestured to sit down. Coffee, that’s all. Simple enough. That way we’d be out of their way in 20 minutes or so. As the fragile woman struggled to change the filter, I felt a pang of guilt for making her wait on us. The “Open” sign was obviously just a formality.
The woman was kind enough to ask us where we were from, giving us the small town welcome I’d so desperately wanted moments earlier. I forced myself to swallow the coffee, having noticed the milk was curdled a second too late. She spoke nostalgically about the restaurant. There had been so many changes over the years that the street had lost its sense of familiarity. Even just a few years ago regulars would come in all the time after the shows. Every piece of aged memorabilia that I’d initially been so excited about now had a quality of bitterness. It felt strange sitting in the aftermath of it all.
If you look at online reviews for Ellam’s Restaurant in Stratford, you’ll find warnings to avoid it at all costs. Admittedly the restaurant seems to be nearing a close to the satisfaction of all those involved. Yet it is still harrowing to see it decay in this way, as the commerciality of Ontario Street continues to be built up around it.
It may seem an odd choice to write about a Canadian city for an application for a travel writing position. There is nothing extraordinary about the city of Stratford. As a tourist, I was guilty of dismissing it as a festival town. Yet like any other city, I found that it is the individuals’ stories that give the city its history. Because the city’s income thrives on the festival, it is easy to forget that there is also a community there that is constantly challenged by the festival’s commerciality.