Wednesday, June 14, 2017

Picky Progressives and Red Meat

You're in your favorite vegetarian restaurant for lunch. As you order a bowl of black bean soup with extra jalapeño cornbread two guys in dark suits, both about 25, are making a commotion. Seated at a table across the room, they are demanding to be served cheeseburgers with lettuce, tomato and mayonnaise. 

All the while, their waitress is trying to explain that the place just doesn't serve any red meat, poultry or seafood. Ignoring her, one of the guys says he wants his cheeseburger medium-rare. The other goes for well-done. Both of them laugh with satisfaction. 

You ask your waitress, who is a friend, how often that sort of thing happens. She sighs, rolls her eyes and says, "At least once a week."

You return to the magazine article you were reading. It's about the gubernatorial race in Virginia, in particular it focused on some disgruntled Democrats saying they can't vote for Ralph Northam. You read about how some self-styled progressives basically see their vote as sacred. So they can't support a man who is too conservative, or even one who maybe used to be. Those quoted in the article said they wanted Tom Perriello to win, because he was properly seen as the "progressive" in the race. A few said they will not vote at all. Others said they will vote, just to write in Jill Stein or Mickey Mouse.

The guys who ordered the burgers are shouting at their bewildered waitress. The manager of the restaurant rushes in to tell the unruly customers to stop making a scene. Undaunted, they demand to be served what they want to eat. One of them suggests, "Go out and buy the damn meat at the grocery store and..."

"There's no check for your drinks, please just leave," the manager says abruptly. As the troublesome duo laughs and gets up from their table, the room remains dead silent. Without delay, they finish their cocktails standing up.  

A minute later your waitress puts a longneck Pabst Blue Ribbon on your table. She knows you don't need a glass. You tell her you were just reading about some Virginians who refuse to vote for a candidate who is on the ballot. You explain that for governor they don't like the Democrat or the Republican. 
She says, “But one of them is going to win. From what I see Gillespie and Northam are different enough. One of them has to be either better, or worse, than the other.”

As the burger bros leave in a huff, you whisper to her, “That's pretty much how I see it. I'm for Northam.”

She grins, “Me, too, but it sounds like those lefties in the magazine are the same kind of brats who might demand to be served, I say SERVED, a medium-rare cheeseburger in the best vegetarian restaurant in town. Sorry boys, it's not on the menu.”

After a quick gulp of cold beer, you say, “Bull's-eye.”

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