STONEHENGE FANTASY FOOTBALL LEAGUE

For the first time in three years, Golden Corral did not run out of to-go boxes.

“I hope everything is OK,” said Dolores, the senior waitress at the Midlothian location. “He never misses Brussels sprouts night.”

The Pittmans, buffet regulars for the better part of a decade, had chosen somewhere else to celebrate their anniversary: the Moose Lodge.

“These are good peoples,” Mr. Pittman said, gesturing toward a couple, one of whom looked like Dog the Bounty Hunter, playing the skill games. “At a buffet, nobody knows your name. Here, they know your name, your truck, and what your daddy did. He was a mayor, you know.”

Mr. Pittman joined the Loyal Order of Moose in 2024 after Ruth’s Chris gave him a two-year ban for “choking.” The enrollment ceremony involved a pledge, a handshake and a brief lecture on the history of the antlers.

Golden Corral had a chocolate fountain, a carving station and 47 things under heat lamps. The Moose offered wood paneling, a $2.50 domestic draft, a fish fry members described as “fine,” and a guest book Mrs. Pittman was required to sign before entering. After signing, she was issued a sticker.

“It’s a fraternal organization,” explained Earl, who has tended the bar since the Clinton administration. “You gotta be a member, or with a member, and even then I need to see the card. And you wear the sticker. I’ve turned away a pastor.”

At 9 p.m. sharp, the jukebox was cut and every member stood and faced south toward Mooseheart, Illinois, for the nightly Nine O’Clock Ceremony. The Pittmans, mid-shrimp platter, stood as well. Mrs. Pittman was later overheard asking her husband why everyone had turned toward the bathroom. He explained that it was Illinois.

Members also pointed the couple toward a spaghetti dinner benefiting Moosehaven, the organization’s retirement community in Florida. “You put in your time here, you get a spot down there,” one longtime member said. “Golden Corral’s not offering that. Golden Corral’s offering a second plate of soft serve.”

Back on Midlothian Turnpike, the sprouts sat untouched beneath the heat lamp. Dolores refused to speculate. “Men his age, they wander,” she said, refilling a tea nobody ordered. “They come back. I heard that happened to him at the fantasy draft. The sprouts will be here.”

By 9:30, the Pittmans had settled a check under $30, thanked Earl by name and departed through the side door, which is the only door that actually opens. Members applauded. Mr. Pittman acknowledged it by asking whether they could box up the rest of the hush puppies.

They could. The Moose Lodge, it turns out, had plenty of boxes.