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Lunch with the American People

diner

Photo by Spencer Davis on Unsplash

 

Yesterday I had lunch with the American people. I had wanted to speak with them for the longest time, as they are a prominent group of individuals often mentioned by politicians on TV news programs.

I met the people at a diner near where I live. I ordered a BLT sandwich with coleslaw on the side and a cup of tea. The people ordered cheeseburger specials with double fries and Diet Cokes. I told the waitress to give everyone separate checks.

After some idle chitchat about the huge portions of food typically served in diners, I asked the American people to tell me their thoughts on wearing masks and getting vaccinated to prevent Covid. They started to answer the question before I could finish it and the cacophony, and contempt that individuals within the group had for those who did not share their views, was off the charts crazy. Luckily, I had a whistle in my pocket and after blowing it as loud as I could the crowd calmed down. It turned out 30% of the people thought mask wearing and taking shots to prevent Covid was a bad idea, 50% thought it was a good idea, 10% said it was a good idea on weekdays but a bad one on weekends, 7 percent had no opinion on the matter, and 3% said the pandemic was fake news. I moved on to illegal immigration.

“Do you think a security fence should be built on the Mexican border? Do you support a guest worker program? Are you in favor of granting amnesty to undocumented individuals currently living in the United States?”

The people popped right in with answers, which they argued about forcefully and in a threatening manner with each other, some waving knives and forks in their hands. I worried it might get physical so, after blowing hard on my whistle again to get their attention, I told everyone to calm down and give a little thought to what they were saying. But I was advised that’s not how American’s roll. One guy said, “We are not a nation of deliberators. We know what we think and want to express our thoughts as fast as we can so we don’t get confused in case someone interrupts us with different ideas.”

I pleaded with the people to keep their voices low, warning if they didn’t we might be asked to leave. That entreaty worked, and was helped by having our food brought from the kitchen. As the plates were being set down, the people began to argue about who should sit where. I said I didn’t think it mattered where anyone sat and while they were debating the issue their food was getting cold. No one seemed to care about that and the quarrelling continued so I took out my trusty whistle, gave it a blow, and said, “Can’t we stop all this bickering and just enjoy the meal,” to which I was told “Mind your own business and pass the salt and pepper.”

I had wanted to talk to the people about the economy, race relations, abortion, and a host of other issues but I didn’t have the strength to keep blowing my whistle so things would be copacetic. That a third of the American people were packing guns also made me wary to keep the discussion going. So I decided to talk about something innocuous. “Nice weather we’re having,” I said to my tablemates.

Meteorology was not the conversational safe harbor I thought it would be. Some of the people cried the weather did not look nice to them, others accused me of being a climate-change denier, and many individuals demanded to know why I was talking about the weather when there were so many more interesting and important subjects we could talk about. Rather than respond to their remarks I requested the checks.

The bill totaled two billion dollars without the tip, which was not a bad price for three hundred thirty million cheeseburger specials. The bad part was the one thing everyone agreed on was that I should pay for the food. I didn’t want to fight such a petulant throng so I agreed to pick up the tab, which didn’t make me happy, as the limit on my credit card is ten thousand dollars.

I asked the waitress if I could pay with a personal check and she said I could as long as I had three forms of photo ID. Fortunately, I did.

As I got into my car to go home two thoughts struck me. The next time I speak to the American people I will do it on Twitter where you don’t have to feed folks to get them to talk and you can be as outlandish, unthinking, and argumentative as you like; and after my check bounces I doubt if I will ever be welcomed to eat at this diner again.

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