Fully Clothed and Wearing Shoes
Searching for a picnic spot to include in the Academy of Reality’s pamphlet, Fifty Places to Picnic, Sid and Mia take an underground tunnel to check out a space, occupied by an obsolete generator. Its former maintenance mechanic, Jonson got laid off; he landed a part-time night job at Sky Pilot, a sports bar in Podunk, a whistle-stop place, a couple of towns away from the Academy. During a feud with the selectman, the railroad company sold the track for scrap. Farmers sold cornfields to make space for bigger bedroom community; the town could only claim progress in its rising real estate prices and taxes. On the graveyard shift, a police officer caught Jonson with a cute, middle-aged server at the bar. Both fully clothed and still wearing shoes, the officer could only cite Jonson for drinking while cleaning a bar after hours.
Truth Stranger than Fiction
Jonson is only a fictitious character at the Academy of Reality. His little league crime, drinking while cleaning, a violation of state liquor law, is a true story that belongs to someone else. A real-life character was caught drinking an after-hours beer while cleaning up while a server was counting tips. The fictitious Jonson was named after the anonymous, real-life, after-hours beer drinker who I have never met. His misfortune, losing a job, has become a footnote in Podunk’s unremarkable history.
The Buck Stops Here, There—Or Somewhere
After a busy Saturday night, the owners closed the bar, leaving Jonson and a server in charge of cleanup. Podunk was too small to waste time or money; the selectmen doubled as liquor commissioners. Sky Pilot’s owners agreed to fire Jonson to avoid losing their liquor license. Railroading Jonson to save the license was a weird compromise. Maybe the bar owners and Selectmen were friends. Maybe Jonson could have saved himself if he’d paid for his after-hours beer. Instead, he became a pawn who saved the bar’s license. I’ve never heard any rumors about a payoff for his selfless, somewhat involuntary sacrifice.
Small-town truth is sometimes stranger than fiction.
