The clock says 5:00. My mind says 4:00. It's still dark out. What happened? Daylight Savings Time. Who are they kidding? That concept is so outmoded. I know it takes at least half a year off your life. I never feel good after it happens. For at least a week after the fall back or spring forward my mind is constantly saying it's really 6 or it's really 5 when it's...well you get the idea.
I was ready to write a full history of the origin of DST this morning. Then I woke up too early. My mind isn't ready for in depth anything at this time of the morning so whoever cares can simply go to the Wikipedia breakdown and read it for themselves. For me, I could do without it. It's purpose is to aid business with no thought to the human beings that have to change clocks and rouse themselves earlier or later depending on the two seasons affected. Why do we simply change clocks and sleeping habits because someone out there says, "This is the way it is. Do it."
Enough of that. No rebellious ranting. It's too early though it's later than yesterday or is that earlier. It's so damn confusing for aging minds.
So what's gabe up to?
Joe Spinsky had taken over Danny's two years ago. His childhood had been a happy one. His mother had kept him happy every morning with a stack of pancakes interspersed with slabs of butter and a heavy hand with the syrup pitcher. Heavy handed isn't the right term but to say that she glazed over every time she tipped the pitcher above his stack o' flapjacks would be more accurate.
Joe...we're talking about Joe that took over Danny's not the Palooka guy...never realized his momma had a medical problem, petit mal or simply a short attention span. He equated griddle cakes, butter and syrup with love. Later in life he was overcome with his love for humanity and scraped together enough money to buy Danny's. Danny was overjoyed to sell since his love of humanity had been lost over the years becoming acquainted with jackasses who took their anger out on business men who took their money for what they considered inferior service and edibles. Danny took Joe's money and ran. They were both happy.
"How about some pancakes?" asked Joe.
Joe looked up at Joe and said, "No thanks. Just two cups o' Joe, Joe."
Gabe seemed confused. "I thought your name was Danny."
"No, gabe. It's Joe. Just like Joe here. How long have you been coming in for coffee and pie?"
"I don't know. Maybe 2 years."
"That's when I took over. Two years ago."
"So why do you still call it Danny's?"
"Well, it takes about two years to break even. I didn't have enough to change the sign. Besides everyone around here seemed comfortable with the name. I got plans though. Next year I'm changing it." He got a far away look in his eye. Gabe and Joe noticed that he seemed to go into a trance and his hand conformed to an imaginary pitcher that remained in a pouring position.
"Yeah, we're happy for you. How about that Joe, Joe." Gabe pointed his index finger into a circular motion next to his temple as his eyes rose to the ceiling. Joe, the owner of Danny's, shook his head quickly as he came back to life, asked, "How 'bout some of my Johhny cakes. Got a special on the blueberry chocolate chip strawberry ones."
"Don't want no effin' pancakes, Danny. Just coffee, black with cream."
"You got it," said Joe who owned Danny's. "I'll be right back."
He poured the two cups of coffee from the urn and spit into each cup. His desire to serve humanity over the last two years had dimmed somewhat. He carried the laced coffees to the table. Once more he asked, "Pancakes and syrup?"
"HELL NO!" shouted Gabe and Joe.
Joe, who now was beginning to regret his decision to buy Danny's, walked away from the two. Every day he offered his lovely stacks of pancakes, six to a stack for the price of three with a full pitcher of genuine Canadian imitation maple syrup and a wheel of butter produced from his very own churn in the kitchen. Every day he was told no. One can only take so many rejections. Pancakes, butter and syrup were love to Joe, who bought Danny's. Joe who punched faces couldn't care less about pancakes, or love for that matter.
"Best coffee in town," said Joe, the puncher, as he slurped in a mouthful. "Robust and hot."
"I don't know," said Gabe. "It's got a distinct twang I don't particularly relish."
They drank their coffee and spoke of maybe Gabe getting a loan to pay the boss. As they were speaking the picture in my mind began to fade. I reckon it'll be tomorrow that their story will begin to reappear.
"How about some pancakes?" I distinctly heard that as Joe, Joe and Gabe's world began to recede into whereever they came from.