Moose Lodge

Ron wanted to stop at the liquor store to purchase a case of Budweiser Select. It was closed. He pulled into the Moose Lodge right next door. I thought he was just turning around to get back to the main road. There were quite a few cars in the lot. I said that it looked like there was something going on at the Moose Lodge. Ron parked the truck and said, "there's always something going at the Moose Lodge." I followed him into the lodge. He had a key card that he had to swipe to get in. That place was really secure. Just inside the door to the left was a huge stuffed moose head mounted to the wall. Underneath it was a small table with a book where guests had to be signed in. Ron signed me in and put an "honored guest" sticker on my chest. A sign on the table read, "guests are not permitted to purchase items from the Moose Lodge store." I guess if I had really wanted a Moose Lodge sweat shirt, mechanical pencil or key chain, Ron could have purchased it for me.

As we approached the bar (which was about half full), a few older men greeted Ron and either nodded or smiled at me. We sat down. The bar tender put a Budweiser Select in front of Ron and asked what I wanted. Miller Light.

As we drank these cans of beer, A guy about sixty was talking loud enough for most people on our end of the bar to hear. He was complaining about Obama.

He had been in a branch of the service. "He's not my commander in chief!"

Most of the other guys seemed to agree with him. "He'll never be my commander in chief. I didn't vote for him." Then, he told a story about a guy he knew in the service that was a total prick. He told him that if he ever came through his town, he was going to kill him. He ended that story by saying, "I told him, that's not a threat, that's a promise!" An older guy with gray hair and a pony tail sitting next to him exploded in laughter. These were the best of times at the lodge. Then, he told about taking care of JFK's plane and how JKF came and shook every body's hand. He really liked JFK. Maybe if Obama could just shake his hand. The beer was gone and it was time to leave. Ron said his goodbyes the guys nodded or smiled at me and we walked through a thick cloud of cigarette smoke to the door. As we were driving off, I asked Ron what the story teller's name was. He didn't know. I told him that I thought he looked like Ted Koppel.

Ron laughed in agreement and said, "yes, he did."

There's always something going on at the Moose Lodge.