Years back, there was a restaurant...OK, diner...called Jim's Corner. Run by a great Greek guy named Bill and his wife. (The original owner was a Greek named Jim and his daughter married the guy named Bill)

Anyway...there was a sign outside. "Home of the 912th Squardon." Made up of airline pilots, Navy folks and a few select locals, they met for breakfast every morning at 9:12 with the express intent to drive out all the paying customers using whatever civil means possible. A Rolodex was kept behind the counter with names and phone numbers of everyone over the years. "Membership" was open to all, provided you were a good guy. Scabs knew better...

On more than one occasion, a person wandered in and asked if this was where the 912 squadron met and what was it all about, because he wanted to join it. Bill, the owner...always the gentleman, would inquire what airline the lad worked for and when he was told "Delta," Bill would smile and say, "you know, that sign is awfully old and I guess I should do something about it. Those guys haven't been around for years. What can I fix you?" At which time the person would make up a lame assed excuse and leave.

And we would all then cheer, make a couple of rude comments and go back to chasing out the paying customers.

As Jimmy Buffet says, "You had to be there."