A Christmas Story, pt. 2
The morning after the tree lighting in Kyle, I stop at the "My HEB Plus" in town. This is aside from the point, but why call it "My HEB"? Why not just HEB like the others? One of the mysteries of living in Kyle.
After HEB, I decide to stop in at Whataburger and get a sausage biscuit. I know, Sonic the night before, Whataburger in the morning, not the best choices. But I know, dear reader, you are not judging me. As I wait for my breakfast quietly, an older man breezes in, grabs a coffee cup from behind the counter and starts banging it loudly on the counter. WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! "Is anyone back there?" he yells. Then he turns and grins at me.
A man from the back comes to the counter and greets him; it's obvious they know one another. The man next to me also orders a sausage biscuit but I notice he does not pay for his coffee. He looks around the restaurant and yells in a direction, "Hey old retired people! What are you doing here?" Or something to that effect. I look in the direction he is yelling and see a table of old men.
"Santa's coming," he says to me. He looks out at the driveway. "He's pulling up right now." I look at him silently. "Santa's coming!" he yells to his friends. Then he says to the man behind the counter, "Have you helped this lady yet?"
Sure enough, a man looking very much like Santa, with trailing white beard, comes through the front doors a few moments later. "I told you Santa was coming," the man says to me, "his real name is .... but I just call him Santa." Santa goes to join the others and my new friend steals a picante sauce from behind the counter.
"You can join us if you want. They won't mind. They might be nice. One is the ex-sheriff." I laugh and nod and wait on my sausage biscuit. I want to tell him I only dine with current sheriffs, but I don't. My biscuit is ready and I leave, glad to have had Santa sighting number two in Kyle so early in my day.
After HEB, I decide to stop in at Whataburger and get a sausage biscuit. I know, Sonic the night before, Whataburger in the morning, not the best choices. But I know, dear reader, you are not judging me. As I wait for my breakfast quietly, an older man breezes in, grabs a coffee cup from behind the counter and starts banging it loudly on the counter. WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! "Is anyone back there?" he yells. Then he turns and grins at me.
A man from the back comes to the counter and greets him; it's obvious they know one another. The man next to me also orders a sausage biscuit but I notice he does not pay for his coffee. He looks around the restaurant and yells in a direction, "Hey old retired people! What are you doing here?" Or something to that effect. I look in the direction he is yelling and see a table of old men.
"Santa's coming," he says to me. He looks out at the driveway. "He's pulling up right now." I look at him silently. "Santa's coming!" he yells to his friends. Then he says to the man behind the counter, "Have you helped this lady yet?"
Sure enough, a man looking very much like Santa, with trailing white beard, comes through the front doors a few moments later. "I told you Santa was coming," the man says to me, "his real name is .... but I just call him Santa." Santa goes to join the others and my new friend steals a picante sauce from behind the counter.
"You can join us if you want. They won't mind. They might be nice. One is the ex-sheriff." I laugh and nod and wait on my sausage biscuit. I want to tell him I only dine with current sheriffs, but I don't. My biscuit is ready and I leave, glad to have had Santa sighting number two in Kyle so early in my day.