‘I watched the entire Donald Trump press conference on Wednesday.” That’s what I announced when I walked into the Arroyo Cafe, like I had survived a terrible ordeal in the desert.
From the kitchen, Carlos shouted back at me. “Callate! Not one more word about Señor Trump. Not one!“
Sour Frank barked, “It’s a free country! I like Trump.”
Lurlene pinched her nose as if a javelina had just sprayed her plate. Rosa waved me away with her coffee pitcher like there was a cloud of killer bees. Nobody wanted to hear one more word about the Great Tweeter. Romero looked like he was going to throw up if I said the president-elect’s name aloud.”I’m eating here, amigo.” Even the cow skull over the cash register winced.
Sour Frank slapped his friend Romero on the back. ”What are you having this morning, Mr. Bleedin’ Heart? Crow? Humble Pie? Eggs Benedict Arnold?”
“Jerk.”
I said, “We all got four more years of this. Better get used to it.”
Sour Frank smiled. ”Eight.”
Lurlene rolled her eyes. “Carrot Top doesn’t know a thing about the border. First it’s a wall. Then it’s a fence. First Mexico’s paying for it. Now we’re paying for it. He goes back and forth so often in his mind he oughta get his lonesome brain cell a green card.”
Sour Frank said it was unpatriotic to diss our president-elect like that. “He’s a good man.”
Lurlene, madder than a cornered javelina, disagreed.
“Don’t get me started on how important trade with Mexico is. If Drumpf decides to punish Mexico with high tariffs, Arizona is going to get caught in the cross-fire like a jackrabbit at Apache Pass.”
Sour Frank declared the world was not ending — as far as he knew, anyway — and that he was going to watch the inauguration “of the one man who can save us” and that we should give Trump a chance. “He’s going to make us great again. Mark my words.”
I spit out my coffee.
Lurlene said, “We had a saying on the ranch. There are three things you don’t give a chance. Scorpions, black widows and New York City landlords.”
I told everyone I have to watch the inauguration. “Cartoon material. On the up side, I’ll get to see some amazing celebrities. Scott Baio and Mel Gibson. ”
Sour Frank grimaced. “You’re a hater.”
“Wrong. I’m the loyal opposition. There should be no ‘conflict of interest’ for citizen Trump. He should have only one interest. Upholding and defending the Constitution of the United States of America. By treating the presidency like one more Trump enterprise he’s disgraced our republic’s highest office before he’s even entered it.”
I told Frank I was donating to Planned Parenthood, Pro Publica and the ACLU. In Frank’s name. “How do you spell ‘Sour’?”
“You’re funnier than a three-legged Tarantula. I’ll tell you what. This ‘deplorable’ is donating to the NRA and Breitbart.”
Rosa announced she was going to host a film festival at her casita as an alternative to the inaugural festivities. Rosa listed her lineup.
“A documentary about 2016 called ‘Idiocracy’ and a bio-pic about Trump called ‘Being there.’ We also have ‘A Face in the Crowd.’ It’s a prophetic black and white oldie about gasbags.”
Romero suggested “The Manchurian Candidate” and “The Music Man.”
Baxter, the cowboy poet, planned on watching old “Twilight Zone” episodes on Inauguration Day. “When Trump enters the room, all I hear is the ‘Twilight Zone’ theme. You’ve entered a dimension of sight and sound and half-truths and lies, where Russia’s our pal and Wall Street is your best friend.”
Sour Frank chafed. ”You’re all jumping on the one man who can shake things up and get us on the right track. You all oughta watch ‘Primary Colors’ just to remind yourselves what a dirtball ‘Slick Willie’ was.”
I asked Frank what he was going to do.
“After the Inauguration I’m going to organize.”
I slapped Frank on the back. “A rally?”
“My sock drawer. Eight years is a long time y’all.”
