“Get that thing out of my toaster!!!” Jodee screamed.
Jodee is the owner and mastermind behind the World Famous Breakfast Club on Tybee Island, Georgia where I live. The Breakfast Club is a local’s favorite, a Savannah icon and a tourist’s mecca. Long lines form throughout the year but especially in the summer to get inside to eat what is much more than a breakfast. It is an experience! Paula Dean has nothing on Jodee.
It was a Pop Tart in the toaster. Val who runs the cash register with one hand because she is holding up her pants with the other one had tried to sneak it by him but when it popped up Phil screamed.
“OH MY GOD” he yelled. “What is that?? I’ve never seen anything like it!!”
Phil is the twelve foot tall red headed person in charge of toast, grits, hollandaise, and garnishments at the Breakfast Club.
“GET IT OUT OF MY TOASTER NOW” Jodee screamed.
“Shit,” I heard Val mutter. One arm was raised because she was using the other one to hold her pants up and retrieved the Pop Tart. She then disappeared into the back somewhere like Gollum in the “Lord of the Rings” eating a raw fish.
“Hey Mike,” Jodee said, “Were you here when we put the Strawberry Pop Tart in the toaster and turned it up high?”
I shook my head from side to side.
“Yeah you were,” he tells me.
“OK,” I reply.
“We had to take the toaster outside. I read about it in a Dave Berry column. Anyway, we dropped two strawberry Pop Tarts in and, after a minute, flames shot up four feet high! Ain’t having no Pop Tarts in my toasters.”
I am cracking up.
I start every day of my life with my extended family at the Breakfast Club. Johnny O does too. Whitley shows when he can remember where his truck or bicycle is which is becoming increasingly challenging for him.
“I played Pictionary with myself last night,” Phil tells me from above. “Katy was working. It only took me a minute.”
We have deep meaningful conversations at the Club.
“I pay taxes so that government can build bridges so that people can have a roof over their heads,” I am informed.
There is a logic to it all somehow.
“What’s the difference between Bill Clinton and the Queen of England?”
I shake my head.
“You only have to get down on one knee if you’re with the Queen.”
Coffee comes out of my nose.
Not to be outdone, Nancee strolls in like a gun slinger from the movie “True Grit.”
“Yeah,” she says as she fills a coffee pot, “what is Prince Philip going to say to his wife on their wedding night.”
We all just stare at her.
“I’ve got the whole of England in front of me.”
I am fully awake by now so I stand and say “Later kids.”
“Bye Mike!” I hear in unison.
