There was a reference to kids making their own “coney island” and I was picturing kids running around creating their own amusement park rides and carnival games, perhaps a Shoot the Freak or a grotesque eating contest.
And then I went out to lunch with a friend and she asked her dad for a recommendation on a coney island. I did remember fondly the chili soaked hot dogs called coneys, the concept of which does not compute accurately on the east coast. American Coney Island in downtown Detroit is legendary. But I still hadn’t caught on.
At the weekend, there was a hold-up at Wild Coney Island. Now I’ve passed this place a few times as it sits midway between a couple of popular shopping areas, and was once upon a time the site of a Burger King. The sign is almost too flashy to read, you know those kinds of signs, too many colours, too many things going on, so I never took notice beyond the fact that it was no longer Burger King.
And then a few of my school days hang outs, i.e. Big Boy, had turned into something called Coney Island, for which we got lots of coupons in that package of coupons you get in the mail when you move to the suburbs. (Oh yeah, another difference, we don’t get those kinds of coupon packages in the city.) But I hadn’t put those two things together; I hadn’t made the connection between coupons to a restaurant I didn’t know and the Big Boy that was no longer a Big Boy. Until one day when I was killing time before an appointment and drove by to see what it was. Aha, a coney island is a diner in Michigan-speak. One of those things you knew from way back in your head, but it took some pulling to reach back out.
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