Many years ago, a friend of ours ran a restaurant in our small town (great cook, big hairy biker guy [BHBG], took no guff but gave none to begin with). One day, had a smart-alec out-of-towner come in who shouted at the waitress (petite woman, also the owner’s daughter-in-law) that he wanted “breakfast, but he was in a hurry and move his order in front of everyone else’s since he had stuff to do that day” (this on a crowded Saturday when half the town was there for breakfast (the other half waited for lunch, since that’s all that could fit in the building at the time)). BHBG heard this in the kitchen, and a couple of minutes later personally brought out a plate with two raw eggs, three strips of uncooked bacon, two pieces of raw toast (plain white bread) and butter still in the wrapper, a cup of coffee grounds (no water), and a peeled orange stuffed into a juice glass (at least he peeled it first). BHBG put everything in front of Mr. Rude Business Guy [MRBG], handed him a pack of matches, and said, “Fast enough for ya, bud?” MRBG was pretty soon a fixture at the restaurant every few days, since 1) it was on his sales route, and 2) once he got his breakfast, decided the food was pretty good. Man, I miss my little town and all of the characters.