Honk, Honk

Yesterday seven of us geezers decided to have breakfast at Jack's Whittier Restaurant, which is located on Whittier Bouelvard in -- you guessed it -- Whittier, California. The food was good, but it's what happened after we left that I want to tell you about.

The thing is, as Ryan and I returned to JJ's Coffee Shop in his truck, people would honk at us. I would smile and wave, but couldn't figure out why people kept honking.

When we got back to JJ's we found a large sign taped to the back of the truck. It said, "Honk twice if we look gay."

Ryan decided to wreak his revenge on Frank, whose wide grin told us he'd been the one to plaster the sign on Ryan's truck. After Frank went into JJ's, Ryan and I pulled the sign off and pasted it onto the back of Officer Cleausseau's police car. Officer Cleausseau likes to stop in at JJ's for the occasional donut, and he was there that morning.

When he walked out to his car and found the "Honk twice" sign, he marched back into JJ's and said, "All right, Frank, what's the big idea?"

Ryan and I exited hurriedly when we saw Officer Cleausseau reaching for his tazer. I don't think Frank got tazed, but I didn't hang around long enough to find out.

. . .Oh, and did I mention that Ryan added Frank's signature to the sign?

The Fun Continues

In April 2010, a group of retired senior citizens (e.g., geezers) asked me to join them for coffee at JJ’s Donut Shop in Monterey Park, California. I did. One year later, I am still the newest member of the group. From this you can tell they are extremely selective, have high standards, high expectations ...and low morals. The youngest member is fifty-eight; the oldest, eighty-eight. The rest, about a dozen men, are somewhere in between.

To become a member, you must still be living. On this point, the men are adamant. Absolutely no exceptions.

As far as I know, I meet this requirement. I also bring one other quality to the table: I am a writer. This pleased most of the men when we first met, but it did upset one. “Writers,” he groused. “We don’t need no stinking writers.” Within six months of joining this band of aging brothers, I had enough material for a very successful book, Coffee at JJ’s. It's available now on Amazon.com and BN.com.

In this blog I am recording the more recent misadventures of these men. Much of this material will probably be included in the sequel, Refills at JJ's: Group Therapy for Geezers.

If you visit us at JJ’s Donut Shop (corner of Garfield and Riggin in Monterey Park, California) any morning between 8:00 and 10:30, we’ll be happy to pour salt in your coffee, steal your donuts, or spread a few nails on the ground near your car. So I suppose I should warn you: this is a rowdy, rambunctious group of geezers.

. . . On second thought, you'll find that out for yourself in the next installment.

A Botched Photo Op

Frank had a brilliant idea this morning. It occurred when Greg announced that he had to use the restroom facilities there at JJ's. His exact words were, "I have to go potty."

Greg stood and walked away, and when he closed the restroom door behind him, Frank said in a low voice, “Let’s give it a few seconds, then anyone who’s got a camera on their cell phone—how many is that?”

Eight men pulled out their phones.

“Okay," Frank continued conspiratorially. "When I open the restroom door we'll all take a picture of Greg doing his thing. Agreed?”

“Yes!” was the unanimous response.

I was one of only two men who did not have a camera on my cell phone for the very excellent reason that I do not have a cell phone, so I could only watch as the others quietly tiptoed up to the restroom door.

“On three,” Frank said quietly, and the others nodded their agreement. “Ready? One, two, THREE!”

Frank shoved the door open just as Greg came walking out. He had already finished doing whatever it was that he’d had to do, and although a couple of camera flashes went off, all they caught was Greg’s friendly smile.

“Hi, guys,” he said. “What’s up?"

"Not a thing," said Lorenzo, "not a friggin' thing."

Everyone returned to their cups of coffee, sadder but no wiser.

A New Seafood Restaurant

It is not easy being a geezer. Not easy at all.

This morning, Lorenzo, who is gradually losing his hearing, came into JJ's, got his coffee and sat down with Frank, Wallace and I.  Wallace was telling us about one of his cars -- he has a collection of old cars -- and mentioned a well known local company that works on automobile engines.  That was when Lorenzo joined us.

"Is that where we're going to eat?" Lorenzo asked.

"What?" Wallace said, confused.  "Where?"

"That restaurant you just mentioned."

"What restaurant?  I wasn't talking about no restaurant."

Lorenzo looked at Wallace, disbelieving.  "Sure you were.  I just heard you say something about a seafood restaurant."

"Okay," said Wallace.  "What restaurant did I just mention?"

"Tuna Mashers."

As the rest of us finished laughing, Wallace told Lorenzo, "I was talking about that auto shop down the street on Garfield Avenue, Tuneup Masters."

. . . As I said, it's not easy being a geezer.