I was “doubling over” my shift, having served as luncheon host earlier in the day.
All of this differs with less than subtle nuance from my youth here.
The more things change, though, the more - it seems - they remain the same.
Beautiful women all over the scene capture my aging glance.
Why not? Did I lose my eyesight the day I turned fifty?
Even though off the clock I was pressed back into service. “Charles, take the beer bar for a while, will you? Just remember everything - whether Bud, Coors, or any variations on the theme still cost the same - four bucks.”
Not terribly difficult to do the math, and though I had some trouble making change out of pocket, I netted twelve dollars in tips for five transactions.
Nothing succeeds like success.
And in Pueblo, be on it known always, nothing, but nothing, proceeds with such profit as excess.
I was introduced to that fact early on in life, in a large Italian-American family that taught its male progeny to hold its liquor, and to dance with every available woman, lest you be damned by the phenomenon known as “the evil eye” by some lovely but unforgiving shrew.
“Hell hath no fury,” I’ve found, “like a woman scorned.” And what could be more forlorn than one without a partner for the dance?
If a guy’s smart enough to offer a gratuitous compliment, smile, and proffer his hand, it becomes a ticket to that ladder possibly leading to Heaven.
Earlier, in the course of the evening, I may have endangered a silk tie by nearly dragging it through a plate of pasta, but in the end my wardrobe escaped unscathed.
But did I get by so easily?
Well, yes and no.
I arrived safe at home, not inebriated enough to cause a misspelling, let alone an accident.
