A Blog
These conversations actually took place.
So tonight I went with an associate to dinner at Damon’s. This associate, for reasons which will soon be clear, will remain anonymous. Anyway, the waitress was chatty, and the following exchange occurs:
I finish placing my order
The anonymous associate: Dude, that’s whack.
Chatty Waitress: Did you just tell him he had a nice rack?
Me: I hope not!
Well, that’s it for now. I’m headed to Cincinnati for the weekend. Have a great Christmas everyone!
I’ve been thinking lately about getting a hat. Not like a cap or doo-rag, but something like Indiana Jones would wear, but normal. If that makes any sense.
I went to the Men’s Wearhouse because a) when I shop for work clothes, that’s where I go and b) it was the only place I could think of that has non-pimp men’s hats. I was approached by a helpful haberdasher, mid 40s- early 50s, and looking the part. Here’s how it went down:
Haberdasher: Can I help you?
Me: I’m thinking about a hat.
Haberdasher: Oh. We don’t have those here. You have to go to Hat and Sole, in Bexley.
(at this point, I think he’s giving me the hammock district routine, but he assures me it’s a real place- I’ll spare you the details of that part of the conversation).
Me: For work, I have to dress nice, not like this.
Haberdasher: No, you’re fine. I rock the casual look myself, chief*
*at this point, I was trying to keep from laughing, I lost concentration. He either called me chief or boss.
I’m a regular at my local Red Cross. Maybe I should have started off by saying that I give blood regularly. Saying “I’m a regular at my local Red Cross” makes me sound like some junkie vampire.
Anyway, they like me there. I have good veins and I bleed quickly. And as tough as the whole needle-in-the-arm thing is, I go as often as I can. For the most part, the people there are nice. But there’s this one guy, who staffs the cookie and juice area who’s kind of pushy.
I’m sure he means well, but he tries forcing you into setting an appointment that day for some future date. And after that, he has to tell you about his Corvette. The usual conversation goes something like this:
Him: “Let me show you my car….See? There it is! That grey car”
Me: “Yeah…”
Him: “That’s a Corvette, you know”
Me: “Oh..the lights on the back”
Him: “It’s five years old- only has 40,000 miles”
Me: “Really?”
Him: “Well, I only drive it when the weather’s nice….Leather interior….not a scratch”
And he goes on and on. And it’s the same conversation every single time. So today, I figured I’d see if I could make it interesting:
Him: “Let me show you my car…See? There it is! That grey car”
Me: “That corvette over there?”
Him: “Oh yes! You like corvettes?”
Me: “Um…my ex-stepfather had one” (true statement)
Him: “Really? Lucky man!”
Me: “He tried running me over with it once “(not-so-true statement)
Him: “Well, mine’s five years old- only has 40,000 miles…I only drive it when the weather’s nice….Leather interior….not a scratch”
Nice to know he sticks to the script. At that point, I left with my cookies.
So the other night, the Civee and I were at Damon’s, simultaneously watching the Yankees and Bengals games. Iron Mike was possibly going to join us, and even though there were a few hours until closing, and the place wasn’t all that full, I had a feeling the waitress wanted to be somewhere else:
Waitress: So your friend, is he still coming?
Me: That’s what he says.
Waitress: Is he going to eat with you guys?
Me: I’m not really sure.
Waitress: He sounds very mysterious.
Me: Well, he is. He lives out in the ether.
Waitress: I’m not from Columbus. I don’t know where that is.
So I got a call earlier from my father. He and my brother went to tonight’s Yankees game.
He tells me he’s in the stadium store and asks me if there’s anything I want.
Me: “What do they have?”
Him: “They have sweat shirts, t-shirts, like the one I’m wearing.”
And I thought I gave dumb replies to serious questions.