“I think a pot hole jumped up and broke the left frammis tube on my truck,” lamented Big John Hudson, as he sauntered into the diner and deftly tossed his old Silver Hawks ball cap on the big round table. “Someone has got to come up with a plan to get the roads fixed.”

Road repair was a popular topic of conversation with the diner’s regular breakfast crowd, known irreverently as the Circular Congregation Breakfast Club.

A few months back, the dedicated politicians at the Statehouse contrived a scheme to pay for highway repairs by getting the people of the state to vote on raising taxes on themselves. In this way, none of the fine folks that had been elected to lead and make these kinds of decisions would be accused of raising taxes on the rest of us. That brilliant idea went down in a resounding defeat, with rumors of some polling places reporting a whopping 90 percent rejection rate (similar to Big John’s dating history).

“I just got back from a trip down south. There was so much roadwork going on, my new fancy-dancy navigation system had to reroute me so many times the lady in the box started swearing at me,” bemoaned Mort (the most technologically advanced member of the Breakfast Club — and that’s not saying much). “Maybe our governor should just take a couple of minutes and call a couple of the other governors — ask them how they are getting it done.”

“That makes too much sense,” countered Jimmy. “Highway funding should be more like buying airfare on one of those cut-rate airlines. You just pay for what you use.”

Voices stopped, heads looked up, and forks dropped onto cholesterol enhancing and girth expanding portions of partially consumed bacon and eggs, biscuits and gravy, or All-Bran cereal floating in prune juice (Harry was on a new diet). Jimmy is known more for his ability to poo-poo other people’s ideas, rather than come up with new ones of his own.

“You can fly from here to Tampa for very little money, if all you want to do is fly from here to Tampa,” Jimmy continued. “If you don’t care how small the seat is, or where it’s located, or taking any luggage, or which days you can fly, or even which airport you land at — then you can fly real cheap.”

“What’s that got to do with fixing the road?” asked Harry, in a tone specifically reserved for arguing with Jimmy.

“If you don’t use the roads, you don’t pay a thing. But, everybody uses the roads so everyone has to pay something.”

“How do you come up with that?” Harry fired back, spoiling for a fight – — maybe one he might finally win.

“When Mort gets on the internet and orders those ‘things’ he orders…”

“Um, yes…those ‘things’,” came the combined mumbling of the other members of the Congregation, as they averted their eyes in secret discomfiture.

“Sssooo…when Mort gets those ‘things’ delivered to his home, in discretely plain boxes, he is using the roads for delivery and should have to pay something, but not very much of course -— this is a cut-rate program.”

Harry itched to jump in and take the wind out of Jimmy’s sail, but so far he hadn’t heard anything to debate.

“If I don’t care which road I take, how long it takes me to get there, or even how close I actually get to where I really want to go -— then I pay the lowest fare. If Big John is out on a date (should that ever happen), and wants to impress the young lady by spending a little extra money on travelling first-class (should that ever happen), he can drive in the smooth and freshly paved lane. Economy class drivers have to drive in the not-so-comfortable lane.”

Arnold wanted to jump in and help Harry with the opposing side of Jimmy’s commentary. But, he was stumbling over the mystifying dual concepts of Big John on a date – coupled with the thought of John doing anything first-class.

“I suppose you’d have ‘frequent driver miles’ that can be redeemed for toll free driving, but only on Tuesdays and Thursdays after midnight,” scoffed Harry, as he jumped on what he thought was his opportunity to ridicule Jimmy’s plan.

“Not a bad idea,” tossed up Tommy Jones. Some of what Jimmy was saying actually made a little bit of sense to the octogenarian elder-statesman of the group. “And, if Hannibal King wants to stretch his legs and drive a big, gas-guzzling, school bus sized SUV for just him and his shih-tzu, then he pays a size-upgrade fee -— kinda like paying extra if you are too stout to fit in one of those miniature airplane seats.”

“The fare rate should seem to be ‘reasonable.’ No one minds paying their fair share,” offered Sal — joining Team Jimmy. “But then, sweeten the pot by offering a second one absolutely free — just pay a separate handling fee.”

If you ever want to come to the diner and join the folks sitting around the big, round table for breakfast, bring an appetite and an opinion — but steer clear of the All-Bran cereal floating in prune juice.

 

Larry Wilson is a mostly lifelong resident of Niles. His optimistic “glass full to overflowing” view of life shapes his writing. His essays stem from experiences, compilations and recollections from friends and family. Wilson touts himself as “a dubiously licensed teller of tall tales, sworn to uphold the precept of ‘It’s my story; that’s the way I’m telling it.’” He can be reached at wflw@hotmail.com.