Penguins in Florida

Three retired sales guys at a coffee shop talk about a sermon.

Deacon Pete wants to preach about penguins…to a Florida congregation.

Penguins in Florida

Mack slammed his open palm down on the patio table. He drooled sarcasm. “Pete, we’re sitting here in the middle of a Florida summer and you’re telling me you’re going to preach your next sermon on penguins?”

Pete grinned as he sipped his iced coffee. “Yup.”

Charlie chimed in. “Might work if you talked about Batman’s arch enemy.”

The three retirees sat under a spreading umbrella on a coffee shop patio. They each wore a flower print shirt and various versions of straw fedoras.

Mack continued. “You’re talking to snowbirds or native Floridians who’ve never seen snow. You’ll have the entire audience moving to their phones.”

“Congregation, Mack.”

“Whatever. It won’t work.”

“The wife died two years ago,” Pete said. “I dealt with my grief, but after a time I realized, for the first time in many years, I am answerable to no one. So I took training to be a deacon in my church. Kate and I were always churchgoers. Always bored by the sermons. Now I can say interesting stuff.”

“Don’t you have to follow the company line on talks? You’re still answerable to someone.” Charlie said.

“To some degree, yeah. But I can say what I want to say, and then not hear blowback during the week. Not like the other clergy who are accountable twenty-four-seven.”

“What the hell would you say about penguins?”

“They got strong survival skills.”

Mack shook his head.

“I was watching one of those TV nature shows. All about the penguins in the Arctic. They waddle around in the snow and ice, no shelter. No caves, no rocks to hide behind. So they huddle in a huge mass. The frigid wind blasts them. The ones in the middle of the mass survive with their shared warmth.”

“Yeah, but what about the poor bastards on the edge? They get the brunt of everything.”

“That’s where I make my point. After a while the ones in the middle of the mass separate, crack open to let the ones on the edge come in. Then others take their place for a while. They rotate to survive.”

“I’m not seeing it,” Charlie said.

“It’s a metaphor, Charlie. Family life. Friendship. Workplace. Even immigration.”

Charlie took a pill bottle out of his pocket. “Time for my statin.”

Mack said, “How’s your cholesterol doing?”

“Good. When they took out my gall bladder, the ultrasound tech said it was full of sand. Blobs of cholesterol. I can eat pretty much anything now.”

“Remember the days when pills kept us going?” Mack says. “Traveling around the country, one time zone to another. Jet lag. Delayed flights and early morning presentations.”

“Don’t miss it at all,” Pete said.

“You still working at the Harley dealership?” Mack asked Charlie.

Charlie nodded as he swallowed his pill. “I’m part-time. Beer money.”

“Sell any hogs lately?”

“Nah. I deal with accessories. Saddlebags, helmets, mud flaps.”

“Any Angels come through?”

“A few…” Charlie leaned forward. “I had a guy come in yesterday. A lard-ass lawyer, pulls in on a Harley that must have cost him a year’s income. He’s part of the crew of lawyers and accountants that ride up and down the Interstate on weekends.”

“Boring,” Mack said.

“Boring, but they got money.”

Mack shrugged.

“Seriously. I still got my sales skills. This guy wanted saddlebags with brass studs. I looked him over. He was wearing a black tee shirt and dad jeans. I says to him, ‘You need protection.’”

Charlie smiled. “He looks at me like I was crazy. ‘I wear sunblock,’ he says”

“No, no. Protection from road rash.”

“‘What’s that?’ he says.”

“You need a leather jacket. Protect you from road rash when you fall.”

Charlie adjusts his fedora. “The guy is standing there shaking his head. I nailed him. He was rubbing his arms. I said, You’re gonna fall. Every rider does. Without a jacket they’ll be picking bits of asphalt and concrete off your skin for days.”

“And...?” Mack asked.

“So I sold him a $500 jacket.”

“Next round of coffees are on you,” Pete said.

Mack laughed. “I miss sales.”

Pete said, “Mack, did you ever tell Charlie about the Mets game?”

Mack smiled, turned to Charlie. “I was selling point-of-sale equipment to businesses. Based in New York at that time. I get a guy, Marketing tells me he’s a good target. Name is Buzz. Comes in from Iowa or Indiana, one of those places. He’s got a couple of food markets, looking to expand. So I figure, he must like baseball. I take him to an afternoon Mets game. We get to Shea after the game had started. I grab two dogs and a couple of beers. While we’re watching the game, this Buzz guy keeps looking around at the people in the stands. After a while, he leans in close and asks me, ‘Why are all the people in the stands wearing those skull caps?’”

“So I look around. We’re sitting in the stands in the middle of a bunch of Jewish guys wearing yarmulkes. I figure, I can take this guy for a ride. So I said, we got here late. Today is free yarmulke day. Get here early and get a yarmulke. You know, like free bat day. Buzz says, oh, okay, then goes back to eating his hot dog.”

“Did you get the sale?”

“I did, but six months later his business flopped.”

“Back to my penguins,” Pete said. “It’s all about survival. I come from an Irish background. My aunt married an Italian man. Name of Sal. My grandmother refused to attend their wedding. Wouldn’t talk to them for years.”

“That was harsh,” Mack said.

“Yeah, but you know, after a while my grandmother cracked a bit. She let Sal into the family. Sal and my aunt ended up surviving.”

“I hear you,” Mack said.

An older man stepped out onto the patio. The only free table was in the full sun. He sat, clutching what looked like a hot coffee. He wore no hat.

Mack looked in Pete’s direction. “Penguins, huh?”

Pete nodded.

Mack called out to the guy at the open table. “Hey, buddy.”

The man looked over, a bit hesitant.

“You alone?”

The man said, “Yeah.”

Mack slid his chair to the side.

“Drag your chair over and get out of the sun.”

“You sure?” The man smiled, moved over to their table.

“Thanks. That sun is fierce.”

The three guys smiled, nodded.

“So, I don’t want to interrupt. What are you guys talking about?”

Mack said, “Penguins.”

***