The Morning Protest

It all started when we were sitting at the Breakfast Club just after it opened at six a.m. It was the normal crew of early arrivals and after just a sip or two of coffee we were laughing loudly. It was like this most every morning.

Then one of the gang, Kenny, started loudly saying things to Jodee and the staff who were still getting things ready for the business of the day. I don’t recall the particulars but I do know that Kenny can be quite loud and obnoxious.

Out of the corner of my eye I see Jodee run outside with a bottle of shoe polish and start writing on the windows. I think nothing of it as I have seen many stranger things at the Breakfast Club and Jodee has written many interesting messages on the windows, my favorite being “Please do not run over my cooks!”

The next morning, I stumbled out of bed, drove to the Club, stumbled to the door and found it locked. I stood there in shock and bewilderment at a complete loss of what to do.

“Hold on Mike,” I heard Fritz say. Fritz was Jodee’s father-in-law and lived next door. He walked over with a key, unlocked the door and let me in.

“Oh no” I was told! “The hours have changed. We don’t open until six-thirty! You can fix a to-go cup but nobody else is coming in Mike.”

I shrugged my shoulders, poured myself a cup, walked outside and bumped into Johnny O who was stumbling inside. I explained what had happened.

“Damn Kenny,” he said. Kenny was later excommunicated from the first-shift.

The rest of the Counter Crew’s first-shift arrived and we stood there talking. This just wouldn’t do. We have tradition. We have our routine. It’s in the Bible somewhere that we’re allowed to have our coffee at six at the Breakfast Club. Blind Mike said he thought it was also referenced in the third amendment to the Constitution. We gotta do something about this.

So the following morning at six a.m. several vehicles pulled up to the Breakfast Club. Two tables were set up on the sidewalk in front. About 20 chairs scattered around them. Thermoses of hot coffee with cups were set up. Betty decorated the tables with fresh flowers and we sat down to have our coffee.

Inside the cooks were laughing and Jodee was beside himself. We toasted them and then ourselves with our coffee cups.

Then a police car pulled beside us and Major Woods rolled down the window asking what was happening so we explained that we were protesting the change of hours. He nodded, opened the door, left the police car running in the middle of Butler Avenue and joined us.

Then Betty pulled out a basket of bacon and egg biscuits. The Breakfast Club doesn’t serve these as every other breakfast place does and the Club’s menu is the most expansive and higher quality in the world. It was the ultimate sign of protest.

After that Helen, Jodee’s mother rounded the corner in her night gown and robe on her way to get her morning cup of coffee.

“Hey fellas, what’ca doing?”

We explained. She took a seat and poured herself a cup of coffee.

Screaming was heard from inside.

Rick, one of the cooks, came out of the door marked “Exit Only” on his way to retrieve more bread. He stopped and looked at us with a grin. His eyes stopped on Jodee’s Mom.

“Et Tu Helen,” he asked?

We roared with laughter.

Wearing these yellow rain boots, Bruce or Bubba as he was known rounded the corner and busted out laughing. He grabbed his stomach and literally fell on his knees laughing. He coughed between laughs and kept laughing. Laugh, cough, laugh, cough! Tears were in his eyes and he laughed and coughed so much that he got every single one of us laughing with him. It was a chorus of laughter!

When he finally composed himself he ran to his truck, got his camera and took pictures of us as he continued to laugh and cough and cry. Finally he went inside to go to work.

After about an hour we had made our point and put all of the stuff away. The Breakfast Club was open by this time so half walked inside to order something to eat. The rest of us went to work. Except for Johnny O. We’re never certain where he goes. Or why?

To my knowledge that is the only time a protest has ever been held at the Breakfast Club. We never felt the need to repeat it. Though the hours did change again to seven but no one bothered to pay attention this time.