If you read this blog or have had the displeasure of being around me at 2 am, you’ve learned that I like me some breakfast. And if I have any words of advice for those who are around during this period of food tunnel vision, my recommendation is that you don’t say, “Yes, I’m sober” or “My car is right over there.”
If you make these statements in tandem, the next thing you’ll see is me standing in front of you babbling something about eggs and pointing at your car.
This behavior has earned me the prestigious position of 2 am breakfast coordinator, a role I take seriously and tackle with passion. It begins by someone walking up to me and saying, “Hassshhh broooooowwwwnns.” This is when the training kicks in.
My first step is to do an overall assessment of the room. I’ll ask myself questions like, “Who in here looks hungry?” and “Why does Morgan Freeman not age?” (ADD is a bitch.)
Then I begin the hunt for you, sober person with wheels. And if I find you, get ready for peer pressure you haven’t experienced since childhood.
Last night went much like this, and unfortunately, our sober person lets peer pressure bounce off him like… an adult. Well played, sober person. Well played.
And in truth, you do not want to be this person. Not only for fifteen minutes will I be pacing in front of you and waving my arms like a monkey, I might call you some names, apologize, tell you how much I love you and ask if we’re still best friends. It might go something like:
Me: But Steve, I love you.
Steve: My name’s not Steve.
Well played, Steve. Well played.
Undeterred and with a room full of hungry people, I began to execute plan b. This involves a second assessment of the room, but now I’m asking myself questions like, “Who here has food?” and “Who’s willing to cook me food?” and “I wonder what Morgan Freeman eats? That might be how he does it. I’m going to Google that when I get home.”
Last night, fortunately for all of us, the food team sprang into action. Jeff agreed to cook, Shannon agreed to help, Stuart agreed to open the restaurant to feed the people, and I agreed to eat. I’m not saying we’re heroes, but only because I can’t spell it.
The food was supplied by the men who slaved over a hot stove for the hungry masses. Bacon, sausage, eggs, hash browns… it was all there. There was more food than we could eat, but that didn’t stop us from eating almost all of it. And despite being in a tremendous amount of pain from consuming an entire farm, I wouldn’t have missed it for anything. It’s just another great example of the spontaneity and good people you’ll find here.
Unbelievably, Labor Day is upon us. Wow. It feels like we were entirely robbed of a summer. Stupid rain. But no matter. The past is history, the future is a mystery, and today is a gift. That’s why it’s called the present.
I learned that from the turtle in Kung Fu Panda, a source of great wisdom and largely the basis of my life’s philosophy. And while Labor Day is technically the future, it will soon be the present, then it will be history. See how that works?
I know it’s pretty confusing. I’m confused. I just mean come here for Labor Day.
Again, I’d like to thank the awesome, awesome people who fed us. If I could saint them, I totally would. I’m going to look up how to do that. I’m sure there’s an app or something.
(Oh and one more thing. In about 2 hours, I have a massage scheduled. If you haven’t had one of those here, schedule it now. Now! It’s a must.)