This is a true story in every imaginable detail. It starts when I ordered breakfast this morning at a Hardee’s Restaurants and ends when I shared the company of a friend while eating breakfast. However, the breakfast I ate was purchased at a different Hardee’s Restaurant than the one where I submitted my first order. If that makes me sound crazy, let me explain how it all came down.
I spoke my breakfast order into the mike at the first Hardee’s Restaurant and drove to the pickup window. The lady there took my money and directed me to another location in the parking lot where she said she would deliver my order. There was only one vehicle ahead of me at the new location, and my order was small and included nothing out of the ordinary. Therefore, after waiting what I thought was an inordinate length of time, I drove away from the scene and headed for another Hardee’s Restaurant. I drove away to alleviate my stress and it worked, and I realize now that by driving away without giving notice, I likely caused the lady at the first Hardee’s some stress. At least, there was no face-to-face confrontation, and maybe the lady likes cheese and egg biscuits and apple turnovers.
I received my breakfast at the second Hardee’s in short order and decided to drive to a friend’s house. The drive was short and pleasant, and when I arrived, I surmised he was home because I could see his American flag still furled on the porch and his Chevrolet pickup truck in the driveway. I ate my breakfast in my car and my friend and I talked at a distance which was adequate to avoid spreading the infectious Covid-19 virus. We had a pleasant discussion, and as usual I did most of the talking. That’s normal because Mickey is a listener, by nature, and I like to talk. I told him about my earlier experience that morning and we talked about the good times we’d shared. We didn’t get into political matters because Mickey and I are opposites in our political views.
Maybe I forgot to mention that my friend, Mickey Cole, passed away about a month ago. After breakfast, I walked past his truck and into his back yard where I was greeted by a spirited Carolina Wren. This is the house where Mickey was born and lived his entire life. He was the youngest of several children and is survived by two brothers and one sister, whom I met at Mickey’s memorial service in Newport News. As I headed back to my car, I was met by a fellow whom I convinced, I think, that I was not a vandal. The nice young man turned out to be Randy Cole, Mickey’s nephew. My heart-felt best wishes continue to go out to Mickey’s family and the multitude of people who were Mickey’s friend.