Definitely Not a VIP

 It's well known amongst my friends that I spend part of Sundays at Smitty's Put out on North Avenue to watch the Vikings games (usually to my shame and humiliation, not for Smitty's excellent cuisine but rather a continuation of over fifty years of following that blighted team). Apparently my schedule is even more transparent than I thought, as is shown by the text that magically appeared, unbidden, last Sunday morning. 

"Good morning Gary, we have your regular table reserved for you for The Viking's game if you are planning coming in. Thanks, Bruce."

Actually, I wasn't planning on going to Smitty's that day, and since I had an engagement at 4:00 I was just going to catch whatever 1:00 game was showing locally. However, how does one say no to that request? So, I came out to Smitty's after all, and enjoyed some of their delicious wings (and, obviously, a prime number). I've never actually reserved a table at Smitty's, although I usually just walk in (during the non-Zombie apocalypse age) and head to the back, where they already have the Vikings game on for me.

Here I am at Smitty's, rocking the Chuck Foreman jersey that my brother Eric sent me last year as a Christmas gift (although my forty year old Fran Tarkenton jersey, which my brother also gave me, is still in great shape . . .).