|
 “Wonder
what the count is today,” said Herb. “Sure is hot.”
We sipped simultaneously, as is our wont, and stared at our friend.
“What count would that be?” asked Steve.
“The btu count, of course,” said Herb. “Those are British thermal
units, you know. It’s how heat is measured.”
Leave it to Herb. There doesn’t appear to be any coffee-drinking
topic that Herb can’t make completely obscure.
“I was just getting used to the difference between Fahrenheit and
Celsius,” our cowboy, Steve, said.
“I always eat my Celsius with peanut butter on it,” said Doc.
“Doc made a joke!” came the coffee-counter chorus. That was unusual
because Doc was considered by most of us as the chief justice of the
supreme court of darn near everything because of all the initials
after his name.
Windy Wilson got up slowly and stiffly, walked over
to the phone sitting on the cashier’s counter, and dialed a number.
He nodded and came back to the other members of the world dilemma
think tank.
“97,” he said, taking a sip.
“97 what?”
“Degrees. Right now. Outside. According to that girl’s voice on the
hotline number I called.” [to top of second
column] |
“Fahrenheit?”
“Don’t know,” Windy said.
“Kelvin?”
“Kelvin who?”
“Rankine?”
“She didn’t say. Just a recordin’ on the phone, you know…”
“Number of British thermal units?”
“I don’t care how they do it in Britain,” Windy said. “Hotter right
here, anyway.”
“Might be Celsius,” said Herb.
Doc looked up from the depths of his coffee, “Not without peanut
butter it isn’t.”
Some onlookers just enjoy a short stack and trying to figure out
what we’re talking about.
It could become a passion or trend or something.
[Text from file received from
Slim Randles]
Looking at the
thermometer? When ignorance is bliss, ‘tis folly to be wise.
 |
