Clinton, South Carolina, Wednesday, February 12, 2020, 8:33 p.m.

The morning was something of a disaster. I had been up well past midnight, as usual, after writing about the basketball games, Clinton High ones, which represented both the Devil (Red) and the deep, blue sea. The girls’ team won the region championship. The boys finished 1-23. These things happened. The previous three years had been good ones.

The girls are devilish on defense. The good news about the boys is that only one player graduates. Some might say it’s the bad news, too. I wasn’t very good, back in the old days, but the teams (football) on which I played were, and it saddens me when a kid doesn’t get to go out a winner. People who say an emphasis on winning takes the fun out of sports haven’t experienced the ultimate fun of winning.

After cursing the clock upon seeing it was 7:30, and that was a bit late for a proper awakening, I had slowly roused myself, shaved, showered and headed off to Laurens, where a middle school was opening a new science lab. I could have slept. There were more cameras than at the basketball game, and I found nothing insightful to write, so much so that I decided I’d use my photos and wait for the school district’s news release. In this trusty laptop, there were somewhere between a bushel and peck of other ones. I thought I had another routine photo op to shoot at 12:30 so I decided to kill some time eating breakfast for 15 minutes and sipping coffee for another hour. There wasn’t any sense driving back to Clinton.

The other assignment was a bust, too. I had been forwarded a release without a date, informing me that I was invited to another ribbon cutting “tomorrow.” It had been issued on Monday and forwarded me on Tuesday, leading me to think tomorrow was Wednesday when it was, in fact, on Wednesday, yesterday. Once again, a release and some photos were tucked safely in the laptop.

I couldn’t justify this science wing and day center chase, both masquerading as wild geese, without writing something. So I sat in Bojangles, having a sausage, cheese and egg biscuit combo, grits substituting for the hash browns, of course, while making the coffee cheaper and cheaper thanks to free refills.

In the 75 minutes, I noticed something about the dining habits of fellow breakfasters. They were all older than I. Breakfast is quite the social activity for the oldsters (or the oldersters). Young folks either skip breakfast, go through the drive-through, or order it inside to go. All those who nibbled on their biscuits and sipped their coffee sat and stayed a while. One lady fretted about her diabetes. A man applied a device to his throat to speak metallically. Many had canes lying at their side or under the tables as they celebrated their life expectancies.

Only I was alone, observing either them or the screen of my cell. By comparison, I was the nosy whippersnapper. My hair is headed in the direction of white. Most theirs were already there. One man wore a backwards Harley Davidson hat and wore one of those beards that always makes me think a wren might fly out.

Not that I had any more sense. I was there for no reason. They were there for fellowship. They had that going for them. All I got for Christmas was this stinking blog. The folks eating breakfast together had a better morning than mine.

 

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