They’re there every morning. Except Sunday.
Three retirees, a funeral director and his young assistant.
They take up residence at the McDonalds where they sit at the same table, drink coffee and solve the world’s problems one at a time.
“That cockroach in Washington, did you see what he did yesterday?”
They say hello to those who stop in for their morning breakfast fix and address many by first name.
“Morning John. Philadelphia took a beating last night, huh?”
When someone isn’t behind the counter taking orders or pouring coffee, they worry.
“Where’s Patty today? She’s not home sick is she?”
When one of the “boys” doesn’t show up for the morning gab session, the employees show the same concern.
“Where’s Joe this morning? Is he ok? His legs were bothering him yesterday.”
If it’s someone’s birthday, one of the guys will sneak in a cake to celebrate.
Nothing is off limits when it comes to conversation. From calling the President a “cockroach” to calling Rick Santorum a “nut job,” they let their opinions be known. When politics collide and they get a little loud, the funeral director takes the heat away by telling a corny joke.
Some laugh. Others hiss because they heard it six times already.
Occasionally, someone will stop by, say hello and join the conversation. For years I’ve been hearing about this “coffee klatsch” my father joins every morning and I had to experience it myself by paying a surprise visit.
They knew me by name. Probably due to my father’s boasting. One confused me for someone living in Los Angeles. I told him I didn’t like California. As a “visitor” I was told about other “visitors” like the state trooper who played a trick on them when he was in an undercover “disguise” and the local broadcaster who “used to sit in the corner, but started sitting with us, until he moved a couple miles away.”
I sat and listened to them argue politics, call each other names, pick the winning horse at Pocono Downs, and revel in a $50 win at the casino. And yes, I laughed at the corny jokes. If only to be polite.
10:30am came around and one of them says, “Well, breakfast is over now, watch them line up for hamburgers. You know, every McDonalds switches to lunch at 10:30. Every one of them. That’s something isn’t it?”
As one shuffles off to the men’s room with his walker leading the way, someone can be overheard saying, “he’s slowing down more and more every day.” From a distance, a wave goes up. Instead of returning for more chatter, he decided his bathroom break would be it for the day. He’s going home.
The funeral director gets a call. “Come on, we’ve got a pick up. God rest her soul, she was 93.”
They all get up, stuff their pockets with extra condiments and napkins and out the door they go, but not before saying goodbye to everyone behind the counter and taking one last sip of coffee.
Their three-hour get together for the day is over and I’ve got stuff to do. “You going to come tomorrow?” one asks as I say goodbye. “No, I’m going back home to Florida, but next time I’m up I’ll stop in,” I say. “But only if my old man is buying my breakfast.”
They all laugh. They know him better than me.