On Saturday mornings, I take a break from my usual routine, and instead of doing my normal 2.5 mile walk, I pause at the halfway point and stop in at the local McDonald's for breakfast. I follow-the-sun, so this time of year I am usually out the door at 5:30am, a time when only the hardcore athletes and desperate dog-walkers are about, the former pounding pavement, the latter picking up poop1.
Rather than listen to a book on my walk (my normal procedure the six other days of the week), I listen to the SiriusXM 80s on 8 top 40 countdown for this week in some year in the 1980s2.
The local McD's is a casting central for some uncommon characters. There's the fellow in the same booth by the window every day, slowly making his way through the Post, refilling his coffee after each section or so. No matter how early I arrive, he is there in the booth. There is the fellow with the limp, who wears a vest no matter the season, who usually takes a booth in the corner, and who always nods in greeting when I see him.
Then there is the gray-haired3 woman who, it seems to me, has been reading a paperback copy of John McPhee's Uncommon Carriers for months now. That is not a particularly long book, and her copy looks well-worn. Each time I see her I wonder if she is enjoying it, and if so, why it is taking so long?
I suspect that this particular house of R. McDonald is home to a gambling ring of some kind. There is a group of gentlemen that I see there in the mornings, one of whom is the clear Don of the group, poring over a copy of the Daily Racing Form, while his cronies sip coffee, chew Egg McMuffins, and mutter under their collective breaths.
I sit there, eating my bacon, egg, and cheese bagel and listening to the countdown, and making my observations. It occurred to me this morning that from their perspective, I'm an uncommon character myself, with my obscure Unix t-shirts4 so maybe I'm not one to talk.
When I'm finished, I collect the scraps and make my way to the trash/recycling and then, reverse my trip, heading home. By the time I head home, it is after 6am and the early-bird walkers are starting to emerge. I smile and say good morning to the familiar faces, even stopping to chat with one or two.
Back home, everyone is still asleep. This is a working weekend for me as I prepare for a big rollout that happens one month from today. But I still manage to squeeze in this piece before the rest of the house wakes up and the day's activities begin.
