Alva Review-Courier -

After our group at the remote Shady Brook Cafe had waited on our food orders for more than an hour, we were becoming more than a little tired of the delay. The small talk among our members had dried up, and we didn’t particularly enjoy the entertainer’s guitar playing. Finally a waiter came to our table and waited to get the attention of all of our group.

Then he tilted his head sharply to the left, pressed his hands together in front of his chest, and began his explanation. “Bummer! We don’t have exactly what you folks ordered, but I’ll tell you what. We’ll give everyone in your group sirloin steaks for the same price as what you ordered, if you agree.”

My sister immediately said, “Great, please cook mine medium rare,” and Patti chirped in, “Make mine well done.” To which the waiter quickly responded, “I’m afraid this is all getting too complicated. We’ll cook all of the steaks medium, if that’s okay.” After some subdued muttering about the proposed compromise, our group finally agreed, and off the waiter went on his merry way, back into the kitchen.

After the waiter left, our group began a rather testy discussion of WHO (namely ME) had come up with the bright idea of choosing this restaurant for the evening’s repast. I began to worry that before the night was over, this could become a serious offense.

In desperation I began to look around the dining room, and noticed that members of the other large group in the room were staring in our direction, seeming to enjoy my discomfort (no doubt anticipating the possibility of a public hanging). And I thought to myself, “I wonder if they’re all having sirloin steaks too.”

On a sudden impulse, I called out to them, “We’re from Oklahoma, and I’ll bet you that our group has a better storyteller than your group.” The immediate response from the other bunch was, “Well we’re from Arkansas, and ain’t nobody can spin a better tale than our guy.”

After a brief period of verbal sparring, a formal challenge was issued, tables of the two groups were pushed closely together, and the story and joke telling contest was on. It was brother-in-law Jim McPherson representing Oklahoma storytellers against a male party from the other group for the “Arkies.” We didn’t immediately know it, but the combined group was about to be treated to the best spontaneous floor show on earth (well, at least the best show in the Shady Brook Restaurant).

Before long everyone in the restaurant had moved in closer to the action, and even the entertainer put down his guitar, and came over to join in the fun. Every once in a while, another member of the combined group would try his (or her) hand at telling a story or joke. But a protester from the rest of the group would quickly object to stop the rank amateur in his tracks, and said objection was often accompanied by additional raucous boos coming from other members of the audience. It quickly became clear that there was a communal mandate to keep only the two master storytellers busy telling the tales.

During this time, the wait staff of the restaurant would periodically bring out and serve single meals. When this happened, there would be a chorus of cries to “Pass the catsup” or whatever, and each individual “servee” would begin chowing down.

Eventually three hours passed since the time of our arrival, and everyone in our group had been served, and had eaten, and it was time to settle the bill. But when I went to the cash register to pay for Patti and myself with a credit card, the waiter stated that he didn’t know how to operate their credit card device. I responded that I did, and began filling out the form for payment. As I wrote, the waiter offered, “You know, we (the waiter and two others) don’t do this for a living,” Upon hearing this, you could have knocked me over with a feather!

Turned out, our waiter and one other of the restaurant employees were dentists during the day, and were filling in during the evenings for the owners of the restaurant. The owners were away purchasing furnishings for the restaurant in India. Seems rather complicated, but that’s the way things were.

Afterward the six of us couldn’t believe that we could spend three hours at a restaurant, and say that we had a good time – in fact a great time. The other group(s) seemed to have the same opinion, even though there never was a consensus drawn as to who had been the best storyteller. Maybe that’s one that should be left open for the next storytelling contest.

(Added note: approximately ten years ago, the Shady Brook Cafe complex was extensively remodeled. Although it is still not too popular as a stopover for tourists, it still has a respectable rating on the Internet.)