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Brenda Morabito sits next to me, with her usual plate of things that usually contribute to the shortening of life as we know it. A mountain of steak fries, well done, surrounding a cheesesteak and onions on a club roll. A very tall glass filled with Coca-Cola sits next to it. In front of yours truly, sits an oatmeal and raisin muffin,and a cup of coffee. The flatware have seen a zillion dinners, and show the wear from same. The dishes are a shade of off white, with muted, seafoam green stripes. Like I said, there's nothing contrived about these period pieces. They're using them every day.
However, there's been one change: the old time table top jukeboxes have disappeared. I had been wondering what was odd about the decor. "Hey, where are the jukeboxes?
Brenda looks around, her mouth full. "Hmm."
"Don't tell me they replaced them with something else!"
"You didn't notice? Can't you hear the piped-in music?"
Yes! I listen, and I hear, of all things, Andy Williams crooning 'Moon River'. Indeed, it's more soothing than 'The Safety Dance' by Men Without Hats, or Bon Jovi's 'Runaway'. Let's face it, those old jukes had to go. That there was nothing more recent than 1985 on the selection list was just, well, tacky. Andy Williams predates that, though...
"I'd rather hear Melissa Etheridge or Tracy Chapman," says Brenda, dipping a steak fry in a sea of ketchup. "This'll do."
"Oh, I don't know," I say, viewing a young, Asian goddess at the far end of the counter, pouring dressing on a salad. "I guess I could go for Sonny Rollins."
Rochelle comes over, and tops off my coffee cup. "I see you lookin' at that Chinese girl."
"No, you didn't. So, what is that, a satellite feed?"
"What, the music?"
I nod.
"Yep. Tonight, it's the old white folks stuff, tomorrow it's something else. At least I hope it is."
"You and me, sis," Brenda brays.
"They have a jazz channel?"
"Yeah, they do. You wanna hear that?"
"Oh, I'd love it. Not that smooth muzak jazz, either, but the real thing."
Rochelle laughs. Brenda asks, "smooth what?"
"You know, like Kenny G. Yuck."
"Oh, God, he is elevator music."
Andy Williams has been followed by Bobby Darin, doing 'Artificial Flowers'. I put Equal in my coffee. Meanwhile, who should amble in, but Don Don. He's tall, and ungainly, and has a head that looks like it was just stretched a bit, like Silly Putty. He has a flat top haircut.
"Oh, no, you're not sitting next to me," Brenda barks. "You sit over there."
"But-"
"But no. And, if you pass gas over there, I'm gonna rearrange your face. Understand?"
Don Don nods. He sits three stools down from Brenda. "Hey, George," he calls out. I barely acknowledge him.
Don Don got his name from when he applied for a job at his current location. He put 'Don' under the first name, and 'Don' under the last name. Hence, Don Don. Dumb as sheetrock.
Brenda eyes him narrowly. "I'm warning you. You better not! This is a restaurant, and you're an animal."
"Jeez, you're a grouch."
"Man, it's been dead tonight," says Brenda, stacking steak fries on her fork. "I might as well call it a night right now. I could use a night off."
"Well, you're running the show, you could make that decision."
"Well, not really, but it's a nice thought."
Bobby Darin gives way to Barbra Streisand's 'Second Hand Rose'. All of a sudden, I'm missing the Thompson Twins. "You could hang out in here."
"I intend to. I have the cellphone, and all the calls go to me, so, yeah, this is my office."
"What?" Don Don's favorite phrase. If he hears something that the sausage gumbo inside his head can't figure out, he goes "what? It gets so that you just ignore the "what" and continue the conversation, figuring he'll either jump on or die.
"Cool. You set up the office, and I'll just stare at that Asian girl."
"You're impossible," Brenda mutters.
"See, I knew you were lookin'." Rochelle hands Don Don a menu. "You couldn't fool me."
"No, indeed, I don't think I ever will...
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Posted by Knoxxie03 on 2007-12-03 19:55:58 | Rating: | Views: 63
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