That Cantata Incident Was Music to Victor's Ears

All right, I finally got this post written up again. Dang computer ate it or something a few days back. I was wanting to answer some of you who’ve been asking what it is I like about Riley’s Diner so much. In a word, lots and lots of privacy. You don’t think of a restaurant as a private place, but it’s not so much about who’s here as who isn’t.

See, I’m pretty involved in my church, Unity First, where I serve as head deacon emeritus. That’s a fancy title, but the truth is I was deacon chairman for a long spell until what folks at Unity refer to as “that cantata incident.” Suppose I oughta get around to telling you about that. For the record, I was only trying to help. Everyone loves a candle-lighting ceremony and everyone loves a banner procession in church Christmas musicals. Why not put the two of them together?

Let’s just say chaos ensued. First off, you would of thought they’d make Ned’s angel costume outta flame-retarded material. Apparently not. Ned’s a large fella, and he don’t handle stress all that well. So when he realizes his wings are on fire, he starts running like a mad man around the sanctuary, passing most of the sopranos’ banners in the process. This started an unfortunate chain reaction, with the sopranos waving their banners to put them out. Didn’t do no good.

Fortunately, the baptistery was filled up that night. Ned made his way back up front and did a cannonball right into it. The resulting splash soaked the sheep in the manger scene, all three of them, sending them stampeding over Mary and Joseph and baby Jesus. But that’s okay cuz he was just a doll that night. The Millers’ baby daughter got sick that night so we had to substitute at the last minute. No harm done.

For the record, most of the sopranos’ eyebrows grew back in time. We went ahead and finished out the cantata, and several of the firemen said it was the most beautiful thing they ever heard. One of them even got saved so the whole thing musta been providence.

Anyways, that’s all Victor Stern needed to convince the rest of the church that it was high time for me to step down as deacon chairman, a job he’s been craving a long time. So Victor becomes the new deacon chairman, and he convinces the church to create this position for me of head deacon emeritus. That’s their way of saying it was time to put me out to pasteurize.

Sorry. Got sidetracked there. It all still sticks in my craw, you know? Bunch of baloney sauce. Anyways, I was telling you about the people at Riley’s. Lots of different folks eat here from all over. Riley gets over-the-road truckers, traveling business folks, college kids pulling all-nighters, most everyone you can imagine. What he don’t have is a lot of people from church, and that’s the way I like it.

It’s not that I don’t like the people at my church. They’re good people, but I see them two times on Sundays and once on Wednesdays. And that don’t count the potlucks, revivals and all the other happenings. That’s enough Christian folk for even a Christian. Sometimes we forget what real life is like when we spend all our time at church. Truth be told, we start to thinking we’re better than most other folks. That’s why I like all these new faces at Riley’s. They’re refreshing. Real.

I got a few deacon buddies that meet me here for breakfast every Monday and Thursday morning. You heard about Larry last time. He’s a good boy, but gets a burr in his bonnet now and then. He claims he don’t get angry cuz that’s a sin, just gets righteously indignant. I mentioned Ned a little while ago. He’s kind of an accountant, which automatically makes him a member of the church's finance committee. Gets real nervous. Right now, he's the chairman. When he gives the monthly financial report to the congregation, he wears his suit jacket so you can’t see the big pools of sweat building up under his armpits. I’ll tell you about the other guys some other time.

Now what I was meaning to tell you about in the first place happened on a Wednesday morning at Riley’s so the other deacons weren’t due in for breakfast. It’s just me. On these days, you’ll find me at the counter, having my steak and eggs with my coffee – double cream, no sugar – and chatting with the customers. Riley’s got himself this little silver bell on top of the door at the main entrance so you know when someone’s coming or going. It starts to ringing so I turn to have a look. My eyebrows shoot halfway up my scalp. It’s Victor Stern and a couple of his cronies.

Vic is always all smiles and courteous-like. He’s a bald fella, except around the ears, with this neat little charcoal gray moustache. He’s always looking up slightly, chin raised, like God’s talking to him and he wants to pay careful attention. Most folks think he’s a nice guy, but they forget that nice don’t always mean good. Vic spots me and glides over to the counter.

“Morning, Carl. Delightful to see you,” Vic said. “Isn’t that right, brothers?” He was talking about Claude Aycock and Sid Weimer, both of them deacons at Unity First. They’re two of Vic’s most popular groupies so they’ve clearly gone to the dark side. These two don’t have a thought they don’t run by Vic first.

“That’s the truth,” Claude said. “Amen,” Sid chimed.

“What brings you hear, Vic?” I asked.

“Victor,” he corrects me, smiling. Since he was named deacon chairman, he started going by Victor.

“I thought we’d stop in for some coffee. We’re on our way to a new men’s prayer meeting. It meets once a month. It’s a time for men of Christian faith to unite in prayer and discuss the pressing moral issues of the day. We can no longer remain silent.”

“Amen,” Sid said, followed by another “That’s the truth” from Claude.

“Silence’s never been much of a problem for you, Vic.”

“Victor.”

“Whatever.” I take a sip of my coffee. “So what pressing moral issues of the day will you be discussing?”

“Cloning. It’s past time man stop playing God.”

“Preach that, brother,” Claude said. “Amen,” Sid responded.

“Funny thing,” I said, looking at Claude and Sid. “I would of guessed you was all for it.”