The parson entered his favorite dinner to partake of a hearty breakfast. Seating himself at his usual table in the back, he found Helen, the waitress, placing a cup of decaf on the table in front of him.
“Morning, Helen. How are you and the family?”
“We’re doing good, Parson. Fred’s off the night shift now so we get to see each other for a change.”
“That’s nice, Helen. Glad to hear it.”
“You want anything besides the coffee, Parson?”
“I do, Helen. I do. Let me have two eggs over medium, a couple slices of bacon, a sausage patty, grits, some baked apples, and those special hash browns you guys fix.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes, I’m seriously hungry.”
“Are you going to tell Ms. Parson about this artery clogging breakfast?”
“Are you going to tell Fred about getting forty dollars more in tips last week than he thinks?”
Helen slapped the parson’s shoulder and walked away.
The parson was reaching to pull his Kindle from his coat pocket when Ryan Segars walked up. He pulled out a chair and invited himself to join the parson. In no time at all Helen was there. Ryan told her he only wanted coffee. Which she delivered promptly.
“So, how are things with you, Ryan?” the parson asked.
“Not too bad, Parson.”
The parson inquired about Ryan’s family. Then the two discussed some community issues which revealed to the parson Ryan was planning to start a recall petition to remove the commissioners. Finally Ryan got around to discussing his church.
“What do you think the chances are we could get a new pastor next year, Parson?” he asked.
“Why in the world would you want a new pastor?” the parson asked as he leaned back to give Helen plenty of access to place his order on the table. The parson immediately dug into his early morning feast while he listened to Ryan’s lament.
“You know as well as I do, Parson, Rev. Jenkins is getting up in age.”
The parson paused in his chewing, then swallowed, and commented, “Do you know how old I am?”
“Parson, you’re different. You’re a young-old, if you know what I mean. You go hiking; you’re always active, but Brother Jenkins is, well, he’s old.”
“Your church is growing, Ryan.”
“That’s true, but it might grow more if we had a younger pastor.”
“Your youth group is active.”
“That’s true also, but, Parson, ... have you ever heard him preach?”
“No, I haven’t,” said the parson.
“To say he’s a bit of a bore would be an understatement. I mean he just talks in a monotone. Truth is when he’s preaching it’s easy to realize how old he is.”
“I thought attendance is up at your church.”
“That’s true, too. But, look Parson you know what I’m talking about.”
The parson had finished his meal. He put some money on the table and invited Ryan to accompany him. As he passed Helen he whispered, “I put the money for my tab on the table. I promise I won’t tell Fred how much the tip is.”
Outside the parson walked toward his car, noticing Ryan’s 1959 Chevy Impala parked two spots down. He turned to Ryan and asked, “That’s quite an antique you have for a car, Ryan. When are you going to get a new one?”
“I wouldn’t trade that for anything, Parson,” said Ryan. “It gets me where I want to go.”
“Exactly,” said the parson. “Exactly. Think about that, Ryan.”
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