BP Coffee Club at Sunrise
It all started with a need for Coca-Cola (I wonder how many projects of mine will begin that way), and a run into the gas station. While paying, I leaned over the counter with a question for the cashier.
“Okay, I have to ask, I’m just curious,” I wonder how many projects of mine will begin that way, too. “Why is there a sign up over there that says ‘Tables of Wisdom’?” The answer: The BP Coffee Club, who were kind enough to let me photograph their gathering.
The BP Coffee Club meets every single morning, opening up the place with staff at six. The group fluctuates, but for years at least three or four representatives are there, settling into their customary spot in the front left corner of the store, drinking gas station coffee, and shooting the breeze. They tell stories all of them have heard a hundred times interspersed with an occasional question, local news, and the price of hurricane repairs. There is something comforting about knowing that no matter what happens, whatever apocalypse washes over the earth, older gentlemen will always find a way to gather to tell stories, old and new. My great-grandfathers did it, and yours did too. Their great-grandchildren will (as likely as not) take up the mantle themselves someday. But until then, these fellows are holding down the fort for us.
On this September morning, there were four club members: Brad and Paul (brothers - Brad is visiting and an adopted member of the club), Jim (jean shirt and nine fingers, I never asked how one thumb went missing), and Billy (a methodical foil for Jim, who has a strong contradictory streak). Of the four, only Jim actually drank coffee, out of a mug he brought from home.
Talking to Miss Anita, better known to the club as Little Bit. She has been working at the gas station since 1983.
“How has it changed?” I asked her.
“Different owners come and go, but other than that, not much,” she replied.
For Jim, part of the ritual is lottery tickets. On this morning his winnings were $2.
The scuttlebutt of this morning was about the day before. The president had planned to visit the island to survey hurricane and tornado damage (the visit was canceled due to a thunderstorm). Billy - above, far left - had accidentally wandered into the zone the president was supposed to visit, and bumped into servicemen who wanted to check any weapons before Billy and his wife could proceed any further. Billy did not have any big weaponry, but he did have a pocket knife he’d carried for thirty years, one he wasn’t willing to turn over to strangers with no guarantee of getting it back. After tucking it under a pile of rubble, he went through the checkpoint, and collected his pocketknife afterwards when everyone’s back was turned.
“Do you mean to tell me that you outsmarted the secret service?” I asked. I never got an answer, but he seemed pleased at the idea.
Jim had not seen any of the hubbub, but he told the group he had been to the Eisenhower inauguration.
Members who pass have obituaries on the board. A pastor from the club even performed the funeral of another member.
Brad is the only person Paul will let smoke in his house. The BP has no such exceptions, and so Brad has to step outside for a moment.
At about seven, the group vacates the Tables of Wisdom and settles up with Miss Kim at the counter before going on their way.
Checking online for confirmation about a story they’d told me about a tiny old lady chasing a man off her property, only to find out the next day he was part of the secret service doing a sweep of the area before the president’s visit. It’s true, and she is my hero.
