Nelson & Sam - Diner
“Ya know why Disney is the number one contributer to the Make-a-Wish foundation, don’t ya?”
Sam posited this question without ever looking up from his breakfast, and the newspaper where he was presumably reading a story about that same foundation. The sound of low, idle conversation from other diners and the tinkling of their dishes filled the space between the question and Nelson’s answer, which came with the air of knowing exactly what Sam was looking for.
“Public relations?”
Sam looked up. “Exactly. Exactly.” Nelson girded himself for the stereotypical polemic that was about to issue from Sam, and Sam steeled himself for it by taking another bite of eggs and a deep pull of coffee before setting the newspaper in his lap and leaning forward over the table. “It’s all a PR move. They only spend the money because they know, in the end, that it means more money is gonna come back in. They don’t give a damn about those kids, not beyond their market value. And, of course, they have the money to pay in the first place. Because, who owns them?”
As Sam spoke, Nelson continued eating, occasionally looking up from the phlegmy sausage and gravy to give Sam the fleeting eye contact that he needed to know that Nelson was listening. He pondered this last question as he chewed, then swallowed deeply before answering - “I dunno, uhh… some congolomerate? Someone like General Dynamics, General Electric, some faceless mega-corp with General in the name somehow?”
Sam chuckled, stabbed a chubby index finger at Nelson - “Uh-huh, that’s a good guess. Most of the rest of media world is owned like that, yes. But not Disney. Disney isn’t owned by shit. Disney is an owner. They’re the top of the heap. Years ago, they “merged” with ABC, but everyone with a brain knows which dog was the one putting it in there. Disney, ESPN, Star Wars, Marvel Comics, the fuckin’ theme parks, the merchandise empires that go with that, those alone give them the GDP of a small country, and everyone knows all about that, but think about the shit that’s under the table, the things they’ve occluded through false companies and fake names, and government bribes the world over. You think Disney isn’t somehow, somewhere in the business of putting guns into hands and fuel into rockets? You think any company that size doesn’t have at least a couple of fingertips dipped into the trough of blood?”
All this time, Sam’s voice was slowly elevating. The quiet conversations that had earlier dominated the diner’s landscape slowly faded away as he drew the attention of the other patrons. Nelson, acutely aware of their eyes on him and Sam, was now fully devoted to pretending that he was sitting alone having the quiet breakfast that he usually enjoyed, free from the conspiratorial ranting that now enwreathed him -
“- and you can be DAMN sure that the same company that’s getting scores of Venezuelans left to cool off in the blood soaked dirt floors of their factories doesn’t give a SINGLE FLYING FUCK about little Tommy Tumor getting to spend an hour with his favorite tight end for the Ravens. Huh? I am NOT yelling” Nelson yelled this last at the manager who had appeared at his elbow to ask him to please reduce his volume or he would be asked to leave, and as soon as it left his mouth he seemed to deflate, spent, and leaned back in his chair. He then proceeded to pull his cigarettes out of his Starter jacket pocket, and lit one as the manager looked on in disbelief, before saying “I was not yelling, and if I was, it was because sometimes there are more important things for people to know about than them having a quiet breakfast. Fuck this place. Let’s go, Nels.”
With that, Sam pushed back his chair, stood, produced his wallet and dropped a fifty dollar bill on the table, then strode out the front door. Nelson sat, forlornly looking down at his remaining biscuit, knowing that his ride had just walked out. He looked at the manager, who was still shaking his head in disbelief, and uttered a quiet “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.” as he stood, put his jacket on, and then jogged out the door into the cold to catch Sam.