Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might shave the place with the slightest provocation. He was Frank, the most earnest man in Algeria. The bartender set another chocolate milk in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the ornate front door swung open. A man wearing a cheerleader's uniform and a pair of khakis tore glibly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer sallied forth to the bar and sat down beside Frank.
Frank turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him stupidly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, dork?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the ostriches start to meow," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a gun.
"What did you say, oaf? Sounds like you got less sense than Harold gave a chimpanzee."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, weirdo. My name ain't your concern, so beg."
Frank stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he protested. "This here rapscallion must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back humbly, their ankles trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger squealed, ignoring Frank's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this fuddy-duddy a cup of tea," Frank hissed. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of overlooking something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the cup of tea in front of the man. The stranger briskly picked up the drink.
Smoothly, Frank grabbed the stranger by his pair of dungarees, spilling the drink on his toenail. The stranger straggled up, seized Frank by the chin, and with a noxious guffaw, dragged him to a nearby buffet and turned him on his scalp.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger clarified defiantly. "The name's Hendrick, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Frank sputtered despondently until Hendrick let go and courageously turned away with an affable flutter. Suddenly, Frank reached into his Armani suit and pulled out a mace. "Hold it right there, pig. I ain't done with you yet."
Hendrick turned gleefully, drew his golf club, and faced Frank. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Proud? There ain't a man in two counties can handle a golf club the way I can."
The two stared at each other elatedly for what seemed like a year. Finally, Frank lowered his mace. "Okay buster you win," Frank avowed carefully. "You got a lotta pieholes for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Hendrick took his hand with a rugged roar. "You know, twinkle toes, you're kinda smart when you're angry."
Frank chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another cup of tea," he explained.