There was a protest down the street this weekend.
I can’t remember when I first saw this dude, and it’s kind of bothering me. I thought it was Friday night, but that isn’t making sense the more I think about it. But then again, maybe it is? It all hinges on whether or not I had Fargo with me. I thought I didn’t, but memory’s a poor thing.
Anyway, the other night I saw a guy wearing a mask and carrying a megaphone and holding a big sign with some sort of bird on it. He was crossing the street towards a local eatery. Moments later, his voice began to blare, but I couldn’t make out the words.
Sunday afternoon, he’d brought friends.
There were six of them, they had three megaphones between them, and those megaphones were turned all the way up. As a megaphone–and–sign protestor myself recently, I felt a certain kinship with them.
I was also kind of scared, though.
Were they gonna try to enlist me?
Turns out, there’s a bar/restaurant down the street that serves foie gras. Also turns out, foie gras is controversial.
Foie gras, as I was recently told but went online just now to confirm because the guy who told it to me also thought you couldn’t sled in Ohio (we need foreign exchange programs between California and the rest of the country), is made by force-feeding ducks or geese until their liver is ten times the normal size. This is an ancient practice, but of course, being an ancient practice doesn’t make it good. Plenty of ancient practices aren’t good. Genocide, for example. Force feeding sounds really sad. I wouldn’t have the stomach for doing it myself. But of course, there are plenty of things for which I lack the stomach. Genocide, for example.
For the protest itself, these guys alternated between saying, in a reasonable tone, that they would stop protesting if the restaurant took foie gras off its menu (no quarrel with burgers or other meat items, which seemed like a fair compromise) and chanting, in an unreasonable tone, a whole bunch of other things I’m imagining are staples at PETA events. The wind was blowing our direction, and we could hear them a quarter mile away. It was impressive. I was impressed. They also celebrated when everyone went inside from the patio, after which point they walked around and started shouting into the windows (there was a jazz brunch going on). I found this funny. I found the whole thing funny. I wouldn’t go to the trouble of attending such a protest myself, and if I was eating a hungover brunch there I would want to melt the megaphones over a fire of duck feathers, but as an innocent bystander it was a pretty good gag. It felt like watching a fight in the high school cafeteria. Just a ridiculous scene.
Someone please remind me to check that menu in a few weeks.
