|
 It wasn’t the dues, which were nothing. It wasn’t being worried
about being elected recording secretary or something if you missed a
meeting. There were no officers, no directors and no meetings.
It was born of an idea that occurred to Doc one day. He said the
members of the Mule Barn truck stop’s philosophy counter and world
dilemma think tank should organize.
After his third cup, Doc turned to the others and said sitting there
having coffee day after day without any real purpose just didn’t
seem right.
Doc said, “There are so many things a real organization can do.”
“What would those things be, Doc?” Steve asked.
“Giving shoes to orphans,” Doc said. “Or curing hunger in third
world countries. Or we could watch TV and file complaints.”
Then Dud piped up. “Would we have to wear funny hats and have a
secret handshake and a password?”
“Absolutely,” Doc said. “Otherwise, how would you know who was one
of your brother club members and who wasn’t?”
Mavis said, “What’s your secret password? Regular or decaf?”
“I don’t think we should let women join,” said Bert.
Nobody nodded until after Mavis had topped off the cups, and had
gone into the bowels of the kitchen.
[to top of second
column] |
“Okay,” Steve said. “Let’s get this straight. No meetings. No name
for The Club, right? No officers. No dues to pay. All we have to do
is give our shoes to some orphans, right?”
“And feed kids in third world countries.”
“I don’t know any kids in third world countries. Could we feed one
or two around here, just to kinda e-e-e-ease into it?”
“I don’t think so,” said Doc. “We gotta come up with a third world
country and then find out who’s in charge of feeding kids. Then we
can send them something.”
“I move we adjourn this meeting,” said Steve.
“There are no meetings,” said Doc.
Since no one could name a third world country without a map or
listening to National Public Radio, The Club died a quiet death.
[Text from file received from
Slim Randles]
Brought to you by “Saddle Up: A Cowboy Guide to Writing,” at
lpdpress.com
 |
