Rock stars. Rough news.
“Kenny G!”
No.
“Michael Bolton?”
Now you can imagine a scene from Office Space. Bonus question, which Austin restaurant was used for location?
Okay, the bag checker at the SWA curbside, both of the guys, they were nice. But, as they determined, eventually, their computer wasn’t working. Not without a good deal of ribbing about the hair.
“Kenny G, you have to go inside.”
So I head into the ticket counter line in the El Paso airport, and I’m standing there, retrieving a couple of voice mails, and the sky Cap runs inside, “Hey, Kramer, we got it.”
Sweet. Nice to be known by my real name. Bag tagged, and it’s off to the “departure lounge.”
There, I spent almost an hour, chatting up a Scorpio. Darling lass. There’s just something terribly alluring about a girl with a gun on one hip, and stun gun on the other side. Something about a woman in a uniform, just tickles me.
Did I ever hear some good stories.
The pain strikes today. All that fun on Monday? All that wonderful, windfall income? The conundrum wherein the trip to a casino paid better than a weekend of hard work? I have to deposit cash in the bank. That windfall will neatly tie up a loose end, like a bill that needs to be paid. Should be paid. Almost like there was cosmic force arranging so that I could pay the bill, if I just deposit all that cash. It hurts, but like as not, I’m sure not many folks feel my pain.
