The little breakfast place I've written about was very crowded this morning. A group of retired teachers was meeting, two elderly church groups and the retired postal workers. Everyone wanted to sit in the area served by one waitress, who is every one's favorite.

The two and threes sat at single tables around the groups. When the coffee cups were empty, those of us who are regulars, got up to fill our own cups. The groups needed serious tending; these once a month, or weekly, breakfasts the high-light of their existence. No self-service for them.

For the very first time in the several years Jim and I have eaten here, this morning a voice came over the public address system (we didn't even know they had one, it's not a big place; one strong voice could be heard into every corner). The voice announced, "Would the owner of the tan-colored Oldsmobile, please move it from the middle of the fire lane."

Even though the use of the public address system was unusual, the request seemed perfectly reasonable. However, it did not seem reasonable to one of the church groups in which the car's owner was having breakfast. And so, in support, it did not seem reasonable to her friends all of whom voiced their disapproval of the restaurant's parking facilities. Not enough handicapped parking; too many motorcycles; lanes too narrow to maneuver; parking lot too full to find a spot; bowlers from the adjacent business taking up spaces. The carping continued. Finally the owner did get up to move her car and made her way slowly, very, very slowly to the door shuffling along with her walker in front of her. She finally tossed the keys to the manager and told him to find a place for it.

She didn't elaborate on where that place might be found. And that's what I'm thinking of.