Diner exchange/Why make stuff up?

“They don’t teach cursive writing anymore in school, can you believe that? I remember practicing circles and loops, over and over again, for hours. Now how the hell is anybody gonna have a signature?”

“There was plenty of time for doodling like that when you were in school Mary, because back then there was barely any history to be taught.”

“Very funny, because I know what mean is. My grandfather was mean.”

“Your grandfather?”

“So mean he shot his dog. Gramma was in the hospital for a few days, and gramp made biscuits.”

“Ah, and the dog got into the biscuits. Like that Darren McGavin movie where the dogs get the Christmas turkey.”

“No, he shot him because he wouldn’t eat the biscuits.”




2 responses to this post.

  1. Of course you proved you were still alive via a series of incisive, sometimes complimentary sometimes sarky comments to Tone Deaf. But here’s reassurance; you do have a hinterland. Frugally sown of course but then who wants to be accused of being a blabbermouth?

    So welcome back mykwerks. With this reminder that you spend time – open-eared – in diners, subsequently turning unconsidered trifles into pure gold.

    For myself I bid cursive writing goodbye with a cheerio. Leaving school, where I was frequently beaten for coming up with corrosive rather than cursive script, I was fed up trying to communicate with a pen. Journalism beckoned which meant bliss in the form of the unmistakable typewriter; where with a bit of luck my genius would not only be released but would be legible.

    But time passes slowly.


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