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photo by Adam Wallcavage, collage by Erin McRedmond diner
Savoy is a region of western Switzerland, an area which has been refuge for many a bald-faced coward during wartime. How perfect that our heros, Pete and Brian, found refuge from a cold, rainy day, inside The Savoy restaurant at 11th and Locust. Entering through vault-like doors, Pete and Brian adhered to the "seat yourself" policy and perused the menu of this "healthfully air conditioned" establishment. Heavy, brown opaque curtains shielded them from any light or outside interference. "They offer quite a spread here, eh?" noted Brian. "I'm not so much concerned about the selection as I am about this blurb at the bottom corner of menu page two," replied Pete. "'Kindly share seating with fellow patrons.' This is a degree of sharing I'm not quite in the mood for... all it takes is one literal-minded freak to invade my personal space. Besides, my pants are wet." The waitress, Lynn, embodied Pete's Aunt Sally. She approached, stopping just short of pinching Pete's cheek. In a voice coarse and scratchy like a wool sweater against a man's bare chest, she asked "What can I get'cha, hons." "Well," said Brian, "I'm feeling pink tonight. I'll have the Taylor Pork Roll sandwich, a side of home fries, and a strawberry shake." "OK. And you baby doll?" "Turkey club and a Postum." As Lynn made her way to the back of the diner, a stranger with a lunchbox entered. "I was wondering if I might join you chaps in this cozy booth," he asked. Now, this stranger was no normal man, for no normal man could bear the weight of his world without losing it completely. Once a prospering janitor, budget cutbacks had required him to take on the dual role of janitor and security guard for a local school. This odd combination of jobs had convinced him that society's greatest threat was not crime, but germs. And what's more, these germs were out to get him. "You see, they're following me," said the stranger, just above a whisper. "So just act natural." Then, using a napkin and cinnamon-sprinkled applesauce from his lunchbox, he demonstrated how the Swiss used to conserve (read: reuse) toilet paper? "but make sure you clean under your fingernails when you're done," he said with a wink and a nudge. And with that socio-scatologic nugget, the food arrived. The boys ate in silence; the man kept talking. "You show up at a vomit scene with cat litter, other janitors will laugh at you. Ask any professional, sawdust is the only tool." He had 1001 uses for sawdust, "that society stubbornly chooses to ignore!? I propose to create a postage stamp commemorating sawdust, The Greatest Absorber. Will you sign my petition?" "Sure, where do I sign?" asked Brian, mouth full of pork roll. "On my tummy." Lifting up his shirt and producing a Sharpie from his sock, he beckoned the boys to sign, right under James Polk. Unable to stomach even one more bite of what had been a very satisfying meal, Brian and Pete hightailed it toward the door, trying to hold back the hurl. As the boys fled, the stranger yelled out the door, "I have sawdust if you need it." The Savoy was not the refuge Pete and Brian had envisioned. While the food was up to snuff, the clientele generally agreeable and Lynn's service like none other, this was no safe haven from the occasional gadfly in the soup. - Pete Brown and Brian Howard |
