hugely
entertaining, the practice wasn’t too profitable for the owner,
though, because these guys can drink a lot of coffee and refills
are always free.
Some of the other men found
that sinful, since it is a form of gambling. They always paid for
their own, or if they were feeling especially generous that
morning, would pay for their neighbor. Now, these positions could
change as quickly as the weather, just for the sake of
argument.
While the coffee was
strong, it wasn’t caffeine that fuelled the social set at Bjorn’s,
no, it was jovial disagreements. Fellows would often change sides
of the argument they were continuing from the morning before, just
for the sake of novelty.
Bjorn’s was known for its
extravagant dishes and huge spreads on the weekends, and this
weekend was no different. As bored as everybody else by the
stifling winter weather, he was looking to stir up a little
entertaining trouble, and had decided to play host to an impromptu,
but carefully set up and manipulated by Bjorn himself, eating
contest between Dale, “the Bishop of Glutton,” as Bjorn loved to
call him, and the Ty the Taxidermist.
Each Saturday evening
people from all over the county descended on the cafe for Bjorn’s
weekly smorgasbord. Instead of the not-so-clean men in their dirty
overalls driving their farm trucks, these people drive up in their
Chevy four-door sedans and parked on the dusty main street. Most of
the time, there were at least 4 people in each car because friends
come together for this Saturday night outing. The men are wearing
clean plaid shirts, or maybe even a church-worthy white shirt! The
women have jazzed themselves up into dresses, low heels, and always
clip-on earrings. Actual holes in your ears were a sign of
immodesty and were the same sort of body modifications as tattoos,
which were also very much frowned-upon as sinful.
Unfortunately, this
restaurant is much too tiny to accommodate all of the wannabe
eaters, so a long line formed outside. Ty and the bishop, however,
were already inside, having been given the VIP treatment by Bjorn’s
wife, who was usually a co-conspirator in his goofy schemes. The
line had begun almost an hour before the smorgasbord (“which is
never, ever, to be referred to as a “buffet” Bjorn scolded)
began.
This line serves two
purposes. The first is to make sure that there is an orderly flow
into the café, the second is that it provides a time for visiting
with each other and maybe even a bit of gossip. No arguing is
allowed during these times, and, unlike the “No Gambeling” rule,
this one was strictly enforced.
The locals gossiped while
they ate.
“ That there
nuclear-powered submarine is gonna be a game changer. Commies won’t
be messing around with us anymore,” Francisco Montana told Paul
Livingstone. “It is called the Nautilus , I believe, the USS Nautilus. Funny
name, if you ask me.”
Nobody had.
“ I don’t think it is
powered by nukes, though. Who would want something like a bomb
powering your vessel? I’m pretty sure they’re lying to us about it
being nuclear powered. I’m sure they got some sort of secret engine
in there, something weird and unknown that they discovered
underwater or at the top of a mountain somewhere.”
“ I think those claims
smell a little funny,” Paul said, ever rational and taciturn in the
manner of lonely Norwegian farmers.
“ Was sure launched by a
funny looking woman,” Francisco continued.
“ How dare you talk about
Mamie that way. The First Lady is a very classy dame, and much
better looking than Eleanor Roosevelt,” Bjorn joked as he stopped
by their table to pour more coffee.
That was hard to dispute,
but Francisco did, just for the sake of argument.
“ Now, see here. Mrs.
Roosevelt had her fine points…”
The conversation went
round and round like this. They talked about the famed journalists
Edward Murrow and Fred W. Friendly and their documentary, See It Now : A Report on Senator Joseph
entertaining, the practice wasn’t too profitable for the owner,
though, because these guys can drink a lot of coffee and refills
are always free.
Some of the other men found
that sinful, since it is a form of gambling. They always paid for
their own, or if they were feeling especially generous that
morning, would pay for their neighbor. Now, these positions could
change as quickly as the weather, just for the sake of
argument.
While the coffee was
strong, it wasn’t caffeine that fuelled the social set at Bjorn’s,
no, it was jovial disagreements. Fellows would often change sides
of the argument they were continuing from the morning before, just
for the sake of novelty.
Bjorn’s was known for its
extravagant dishes and huge spreads on the weekends, and this
weekend was no different. As bored as everybody else by the
stifling winter weather, he was looking to stir up a little
entertaining trouble, and had decided to play host to an impromptu,
but carefully set up and manipulated by Bjorn himself, eating
contest between Dale, “the Bishop of Glutton,” as Bjorn loved to
call him, and the Ty the Taxidermist.
Each Saturday evening
people from all over the county descended on the cafe for Bjorn’s
weekly smorgasbord. Instead of the not-so-clean men in their dirty
overalls driving their farm trucks, these people drive up in their
Chevy four-door sedans and parked on the dusty main street. Most of
the time, there were at least 4 people in each car because friends
come together for this Saturday night outing. The men are wearing
clean plaid shirts, or maybe even a church-worthy white shirt! The
women have jazzed themselves up into dresses, low heels, and always
clip-on earrings. Actual holes in your ears were a sign of
immodesty and were the same sort of body modifications as tattoos,
which were also very much frowned-upon as sinful.
Unfortunately, this
restaurant is much too tiny to accommodate all of the wannabe
eaters, so a long line formed outside. Ty and the bishop, however,
were already inside, having been given the VIP treatment by Bjorn’s
wife, who was usually a co-conspirator in his goofy schemes. The
line had begun almost an hour before the smorgasbord (“which is
never, ever, to be referred to as a “buffet” Bjorn scolded)
began.
This line serves two
purposes. The first is to make sure that there is an orderly flow
into the café, the second is that it provides a time for visiting
with each other and maybe even a bit of gossip. No arguing is
allowed during these times, and, unlike the “No Gambeling” rule,
this one was strictly enforced.
The locals gossiped while
they ate.
“ That there
nuclear-powered submarine is gonna be a game changer. Commies won’t
be messing around with us anymore,” Francisco Montana told Paul
Livingstone. “It is called the Nautilus , I believe, the USS Nautilus. Funny
name, if you ask me.”
Nobody had.
“ I don’t think it is
powered by nukes, though. Who would want something like a bomb
powering your vessel? I’m pretty sure they’re lying to us about it
being nuclear powered. I’m sure they got some sort of secret engine
in there, something weird and unknown that they discovered
underwater or at the top of a mountain somewhere.”
“ I think those claims
smell a little funny,” Paul said, ever rational and taciturn in the
manner of lonely Norwegian farmers.
“ Was sure launched by a
funny looking woman,” Francisco continued.
“ How dare you talk about
Mamie that way. The First Lady is a very classy dame, and much
better looking than Eleanor Roosevelt,” Bjorn joked as he stopped
by their table to pour more coffee.
That was hard to dispute,
but Francisco did, just for the sake of argument.
“ Now, see here. Mrs.
Roosevelt had her fine points…”
The conversation went
round and round like this. They talked about the famed journalists
Edward Murrow and Fred W. Friendly and their documentary, See It Now : A Report on Senator Joseph
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