An Outside View: Breakfast bar anyone?

This is a fictitious account of a 16-year old girl who claimed a football player at a certain University sexually assaulted her in his dorm room and his coach’s subsequent meeting with the girl’s 17-year old friend. Any resemblance to real life people is strictly coincidental. The coach, a.k.a. Inspector Fulombo, and his lawyer friend sit at a large table at Shoney’s. Fulombo is wearing a weathered oversized tan raincoat and has an unlit cigar in his mouth. He has a pocketsize spiral note pad in one hand and twiddles a pen in the other. He watches with anticipation as the waitresses set up the breakfast bar. He seems fidgety. After a nod from one of the waitresses, he strolls inconspicuously to the bar and surveys the vast spread before him. A devilish smile lights up his face. A few minutes later, the 17-year old arrives with her mother and a hand full of aunts. With his mouth full and a bit of gravy dripping from his chin, Inspector Fulombo motions for the group to join them. The girl can’t help but notice the sausage, eggs, biscuits, and gravy piled high on his plate. “Help yourselves to something to eat,” he says. “Their breakfast bar is great and hey, it’s on me.” He takes a stab at a sausage patty and stuffs it in his mouth. ‘My wife has me on this Adkins diet and it is killing me,” he complains. “She says that the only thing I can have in the mornings is a breakfast bar so here I am.” The women watch as he mixes some eggs with his gravy and shovels it in. The female guests excuse themselves and soon return to the table with their plates. “Listen, I know how much trouble this has been,” Inspector Fulombo starts. “Here’s some 50-yardline tickets to our game with that team from somewhere in California.” He turns to his lawyer, “Where are those surfer boys from?” The lawyer replies, “Fresno State” “Sounds more like a penitentiary than a college,” Fulombo laughs. “Ah shucks, penitentiaries are for criminals. You know, rapists and the like. We’re here to talk about football players.” The girl’s mother asks, “What’s with the raincoat? The weather is beautiful outside.” Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Fulombo responds, “I get an urge to wear it when I do these sorts of things.” “You remind me of some TV cop but I can’t remember his name,” she continues. “People say I look like Jim Rockford,” he interjects. “Oh, it doesn’t matter. Those idiots on TV don’t know the first thing about detective work.” He checks out the girl’s plate. “You gonna eat those hash browns?” She shakes her head no and he scrapes them into his plate, pours on some ketchup, and digs in. “You are the witness, I presume,” the Inspector says looking at the young girl. “How did you know?” the girl asks amazed by this guy’s deductive reasoning. She glances at the other women all of whom are over twice her age. “Elementary, my dear, elementary,” he replies. “Elementary?” the mother says. “I’ve heard that somewhere before.” The lawyer nudges his friend, “Hey Sherlock, let’s get on with it.” “Oh sure, Matlock,” Fulombo replies. “But first do you folks mind if I get another round?” They watch as he waddles to the bar and returns moments later with pancakes, bacon, muffins, and a slice of cantaloupe. “Oops, I almost forgot, I can’t have fruit on this diet,” he exclaims. “Does that diet work?” one aunt inquires. “Sure,” he responds. “I’ve only gained ten pounds on it.” Frustrated, the attorney interrupts again. “Coach, why are we here?” “The breakfast bar?” Fulombo answers a bit confused by the question. “No, we’re here to interrogate this young woman,” he snaps back. “I’d rather just ask her a few questions,” Fulombo says. “Then do it, Barney Fife!” “Let’s first make sure we’re talking about the right player,” he says. ”The guy your friend has identified is going to start for us this fall. Are you sure it wasn’t one of our third or fourth stringers that did this?” “No, it was him,” she says. “Well, I guess that’s all I have,” he says matter-of-factly. He rises to leave and then suddenly stops and turns to the girl. “I hate to be a bother, Mam, but there is one more question. Do you mind?” The befuddled girl replies, “No, go ahead.” “Was the sex consensual?” he asks. The young girl replies, “Con what?” “Do you know what con means,” he hammers. “Yeah,” she answers sheepishly. “And do you know what sensual means.” “Yes.” “So your answer is yes,” Inspector Fulombo shouts back. “But…..”, she protests. “But what, Sweetheart?” he retorts. He takes a lollypop from his coat pocket. “Another case solved!” He winks at the waitress and asks, “Can I get a plate to go?”