It wasn’t the best of times, but it could have been a heck of a lot worse. It wasn’t the worst of times, but we were getting by.

The Hartland Loafers’ Club (HLC) was meeting at Tweeten’s in Hartland. Tweeten’s was one of those small town places where the elite met to drink coffee and discover what the rest of the world was up to. The members of the HLC did nothing during the meetings and then went home to rest. Occasionally, all the world’s problems were quickly solved before a cup of coffee was consumed, but mostly the HLC did as little as possible and strived to do even less. This was to prove to be one of those days that would keep the HLC meeting even though it accomplishes nothing more than a case of coffee nerves.

The regulars were all there &045; cleverly spaced to avoid attention. The door to the convenience store that called itself Tweeten’s opened. In came two men dressed in dark suits and sporting those aviator-style sunglasses that allow them to see out and prevents anyone from seeing in. These glasses are like the eyes in some of those paintings that seem to follow you around a room. You could tell that these guys had some secrets. The two men took up their stations, one on each side of the door. It looked like a raid, but unless the coffee beans were illegal, there was no reason to raid Tweeten’s. It might have been a takeover attempt by the Norwegian Mafia, but that was quickly ruled out, as the men’s clothes were color-coordinated. Thoughts of making a run for it danced through some of the members’ heads. Just before the panic set in, we saw him come through the door. He was a very large man with a very bald head.

&uot;Where’s your bathroom?&uot; he asked in a gravelly voice that had become familiar to every Minnesota resident and to much of the rest of the country’s inhabitants. It was Jesse Ventura, former pro wrestler and at that time, the governor of the Gopher State &045; our governor who could beat up their governor.

The esteemed members of the fabled HLC watched as the governor made his way to the bathroom. His associates (bodyguards or whatever they were) moved to take up new stations, one on each side of the bathroom door. Maybe they were bathroom monitors? The members of the HLC watched silently as no one could think of anything appropriate to say at such an occasion. This was quite an honor for a small town like Hartland &045; population 288 when the HLC is meeting. The silence was deafening while the governor used the facility. Soon the governor came out. He walked out of the store without mumbling another word. One of our members was shocked that he would use a restroom like that without even buying anything. Such behavior is just not Minnesotan to this fellow’s way of thinking. Another member of long-standing wondered aloud if the governor had washed his hands. Some thought that they had heard water run in the sink, but nobody could be sure. Another opined that sometimes people run water in the sink just to make other people think they are washing their hands even when they are not. Others speculated as to the reason why he chose Hartland to stop at. Most figured he didn’t so much choose Hartland as the nature call chose it for him.

This was a red-letter day for the Hartland Loafers Club. They would have a story to tell that would require no enhancing.

Things just haven’t been the same since that day. How can things ever be the same after the governor pays a surprise visit? Tweeten’s has become Nielsen’s. Ventura is no longer our governor. Many have said that this should not be an event to be forgotten. Rather than depending upon memories to recollect the event for as long as they could, the HLC has decided to put up a plaque commemorating this historic occasion. They have formed a committee to look into forming a committee that would appoint a committee dedicated to placing this plaque in a prominent position in the convenience store.

The process is a slow one. They might not get a plaque up.

The problem is that no one knows for sure what the governor did while he was in the bathroom. Therefore, they have no idea what the plaque should say.

(Hartland resident Al Batt’s columns appear Wednesdays and Sundays in the Tribune.)