The Lunch Box

There is a little place by the railroad tracks called Jimmy’s Lunch Box. 

The food is simple.  The ambience is diner-café-dive at best.  The tables are tiny.  The floors are crooked.  And every time, the train goes by, it vibrates for the ride.  But the people that fill it every day are what make this place delicious.

It is a microcosm of small town Mission, it is colourful, eclectic and feels like family.  It would be too cliché to say that this is a place “where everybody knows your name” but everyone comes because they know each other’s names or they know someone's ex husband or they know someone’s aunt who eats there. This place is to Mission, what apple pie is to America, except I would call it more of a mincemeat pie with the meat, dried fruit and colourful spices. 

We have guys who bring their girlfriend for breakfast; and three months later, bring their new girlfriend; and three months after that, bring their newest girlfriend.  Weekend warriors would crawl in after a night of heavy drinking for a cure for their hangovers.  It has seen burly bikers, swimming clubs and local musicians through its doors.  At times, there are bible study groups, politicians or yummy mummies meet ups.  And there is always a toddler running up and down the ramp or a baby passed around for a cuddle.   

Sometimes it looks like a man cave with packs of men meeting every week to catch up, share stories of chicks and children, and mostly just laugh. Then there’s an older pack of men that meet daily to talk about their jobs when they weren’t retired, share stories of women and ex-wives, and mostly argue about politics. There are gaggles of girls that come in to gossip, rave about last night's party and complain about their boyfriends. 

Last night, someone broke into the restaurant.  Windows were smashed and food and garbage were thrown everywhere.  Knives were thrown out and motor oil was poured all over the floor.  And some coins were taken from the float.  The shock of the mess was devastating but the greater shock was when the customers trickled in to simply ask if we were ok or if we needed any help or offering hugs. 

There is a family here in the Lunch Box