Story from Breakfast

We're back on the bus in south Texas somewhere between Laredo and McAllen. Our plane flight was short and sweet but the trip through customs took close to two hours. I of course understand and appreciate the job that is being done. Our group represents so many nationalities and their associated green cards and passports that it is bound to be complicated.

I just remembered a story from breakfast that I wanted to share. David Hudson, an aboriginal Australian for those who don't know him, always has oatmeal and tea for 'breaky.' Our waiter could not understand what he was asking for when he repeatedly stretched out the words ooohhhht meeeeeeeeal (think about the "We thought you was a Toad" scene from Oh Brother Where Art Thou). The waiter brought in reinforcements to translate but I was still pretty sure the message wasn't getting through when the last word he said as he left the table was "hot?" Who's ever heard of cold oatmeal. I told David to get ready for goat heels or goat with eels or something because I was pretty sure they still didn't get his message.

When the waiter returned with a bowl of milk we thought he must of actually gotten it. David proceeded to get some food from the breakfast bar as time dragged on and repeated attempts to talk to the waiter, who seemed to be avoiding us now, were futile. After a time David grabbed his bowl of milk to find it was piping hot. Hot milk in a bowl was apparently what he ordered. ¶ 3:40 PM