As it turned out, we had great fun with no serious bodily injury and only minor psychological damage. We experienced the restored Colonial Capital, ate excellent seafood, joyrode through Busch Gardens and slept well in comfortable accommodations on a budget that would have made Jack Benny blush.

The only glitch in an otherwise perfect summer sojourn came as we were returning to the Shenandoah Valley, overflowing with happy recollections and not yet feeling twinges of post-vacation stress syndrome. We had left our toil-free week and were stretching the trip home out as long as we could when one of our group suggested a luncheon stop. I will call that person Kenny, since that was his real name and he deserves all the credit (read “blame”) for what happened.

“Hey,” he exclaimed from the back seat of one of the two vehicles in our caravan of carousers, “did that sign say Ruckersville? I know a little place in Ruckersville that serves the best darned country ham sandwiches on the East Coast! Let’s stop there to eat.”

As we came to the intersection of US 33 and US29, Kenny pointed out a disturbingly rundown little diner. “There it is. That’s it, I think. There’s the place,” he directed. We pulled into the parking lot, strangely uncrowded for the lunch hour at a restaurant boasting the “best darned country ham sandwiches on the East Coast.” Someone noted the absence of a sign advertising this rare delicacy. “Oh,” Kenny explained, “that’s just because they don’t want everybody in the world jamming the place.”

Inside, the darkish diner revealed no hint of its reputation for haute cuisine. A few wooden booths and several small tables covered with vinyl cloths surrounded a dining counter area. A lone customer sat at the counter, apparently enjoying a rather extended beer appetizer.

“Well, that’s the way these places are,” Kenny gestured. “It has such rustic charm. It’s the kind of place where they have real home cooking done by chefs who learned their culinary skills from their mothers!”

We sat down at the tables, taking up most of the dining room. A gum-chewing waitress in a neat pink uniform pleasantly inquired of us: “Whatchall want?” Kenny spoke up on behalf of all of us: “We all want those fantastic country ham sandwiches and draft beer. Is that okay with everyone?” We mumbled agreement, some of us noting the look of complete puzzlement which showed through the waitress’s elaborate makeup. “Everybody wants country ham sandwiches?” she asked. “Well, that will take some time. I’ll just bring you the beers now, all right?”

Several of our group began to express doubts. They questioned Kenny’s judgment about such things. He defended himself vehemently: “Just wait until you taste these sandwiches. They are the absolute best.”

After a longish wait and a second round of beer during which we engaged in nervous conversation, the waitress finally returned with a stack of plates on which were placed plain hamburger buns. Several of us lifted the lids of the buns to discover a tiny piece of fatty ham fried almost to a crisp. As we inspected the delicacy presented with such simple style, we were startled by Kenny’s plaintive exclamation: “Hey, wait, these aren’t the sandwiches I remember. Hey, miss, hey, I want to see the chef! I want to see the manager!”

The put-upon waitress ran to the kitchen and soon returned with a very large man wearing a grease-splattered white apron and carrying an alarming-looking butcher knife. He seemed more than a little disturbed by Kenny’s near-hysterical shouted commentary: “These are NOT the ham sandwiches I have been served in this place before! These are not even close. I’ve ordered them every time I come through Sperryville and they have always been excellent!”

“Sperryville?” the exasperated cook sputtered. “This is RUCKERSville. Sperryville is a long way from here.”

“Oh,” Kenny’s shouts had turned to a meek whisper. “Oh, that’s right. Sorry. This is the wrong place. Sorry. Let’s eat, everybody. Bring us another pitcher of beer and do you have any french fries?”

Even the cook and the waitress – and the rather unkempt man at the counter – joined in the laughter as we all bit into the greasy sandwiches and savored the final moments of our all-too-brief vacation.