VF*n*W Chronicles

Friday night is “Date Night” at the VF*n*W in my hometown (which is not the one I belong to). Old Sarge and I will occasionally meet up with another couple that goes out to dinner every Friday night, religiously. To say that they are in their late 70’s is generous. They are very sweet folks and we enjoy their company a lot. Wally is a small, wiry man who doesn’t say a lot, but when he does, has a very dry wit. His wife Lois, well, where to begin. Think Gloria Swanson. I have never seen her dressed casually. Oh no. Her hair and makeup are always perfect, her clothes are beautiful, lots of shine and sequins, BIG jewelry always. Gold lame` shoes. And it isn’t tacky on her, it is elegant. They are very much in love, you can tell.

Lively discussion usually ensues after a few cocktails. This week’s topic was the disparity of pay between professional athletes and professional soldiers. Lois says she will no longer watch sports, that she is sick of them being made out to be “heroes” when most of them are terrible role models. At the time, one of the news stations had a film clip of A-Rod escorting a woman not his wife. Point in case, said Lois. When did catching balls for a living become more “Heroic” than dodging bullets?

On Saturday, I had to work a wedding at my Post. This is the equivalent of a year in Hell. And may I say, should you find yourself in need of catering, do NOT call Portillo’s. At least the one in Sycamore. They were an hour late, and their Italian beef required assembly. I guess I am spoiled by one of the local caterers- they are always on time, and all that is needed is to set their food out. At any rate, with one minor accident, (a guest tried to “help” lift an empty pan put of the chafing dish, which resulted in au jus all over the table, floor and one of our workers) we made it through it and headed for the canteen for much needed liquid therapy.
A couple that frequents the Post regularly was discussing their upcoming fishing trip to Minnesota. Dave was trying to convince Linda that she would have to put her own leeches on. Linda said she would bait her own hook with anything BUT leeches. The conversation went downhill from there, ending up at who was going in the lake first, Dave, Linda, or Dave’s $100 pole.

At which point the bartender and I made up a sheet with dates and times, labeled the “Drowning Pool”. VF*n*W’ers live for gambling, in case you didn’t know.

The pot was up to $50 by the time we left.