Sarah is the long-suffering and short-order proprietor of Sarah’s Diner, the unofficial home of the very unofficial band of morning pundits, known as the Circular Congregation Breakfast Club.

Nearly every morning, Sarah (and her diner) play host to a loose amalgamation of gentlemen (think: cantankerous curmudgeons) that gather around a large oak table for a round of hot coffee (all the bullets — no decaf accepted), cholesterol enhancing food (biscuits and gravy are good for you if you include a bowl of fruit), and opinionated conversation (conversation without opinion is just small talk, and you will get very little of that around this place). Sarah’s role is to keep coffee cups filled, serve good food while it’s fresh and hot, and referee some of the more animated (think: ridiculous) deliberations.

“Birds will never understand us — they just can’t see things from our perspective.” Jimmy had no provocation for making such a statement, but the conversation had hit a lull and he felt compelled to contribute.

“I think birds have a better perspective,” challenged Harrison Winkle, the only person to come out of the closet and openly admit to being Jimmy’s friend. “They’ve got that bird’s-eye-view thing going on. We’re just down here, standing flat footed with hands on our hips, staring back up into the sky — hoping nothing falls out and hits us on the forehead.”

Somewhere, buried deep inside Harry’s psyche, is a burning desire to challenge everything Jimmy says. Often, Harry has no clue whatsoever, as to what Jimmy is talking about (similar to this particular conversation), but feels obliged to argue the point to the bitter end (again, similar to this particular conversation), often by means of exaggerations, fabrications and outright lies (very much like this particular conversation).

“I read on the internet that birds have a special sense that guides them to recently cleaned windshields.” Mort is an avid student of internet information (think: lore, fables, and flights of whimsy).

Most of his claims are frequently debunked on Snopes — although Mort has proof (from the internet) that Snopes is controlled by an interstellar transmitter, beaming from the dark side of the moon.

“Didja ever notice that all those little towns up north have one bar, one gas station, one store, but two churches?” Big John Hudson didn’t give a flying flip about birds (except during duck season), so he decided to steer Jimmy and Harry toward a topic about which he almost gave a flying flip. “Some of those towns don’t even have a store, but they still have a bar and two churches. Why do you think that is?”

“Because it’s easier to drink together than it is to pray together,” quipped Tommy Jones, the octogenarian elder statesman of the group.

Usually, this would have been Tommy’s cue to go off on a tirade about all the different types of Baptist churches. However, Sarah gave him a nudge as she refilled his coffee. This was her version of a referee’s whistle signaling that it was time to shut up and drink up.

Breakfasts at the diner are fueled by good food, great service, and inane conversations. If it’s not important, these guys know everything about it and why they don’t like it. Anyone is welcome to join the breakfast club — just pull up a chair, order up a plate full of calories, and share your strongest opinion about something that really doesn’t matter.

 

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.