Thursday, April 27, 2006
Just Who The Hell WAS That Guy?
Ever come home after several hours in a bar, carrying a hula-hoop, a swimming noodle, and a shirt sleeve?
Didn't think so. It was a first for me as well.
Teakwood Wednesdays have become quite the attraction these days, with hula-hooping-beer-pouring servers, boob-flashing women (OK, woman. Just one), short stories and long laughs. But last night, thrown into this mix, was an interesting chap from "the north of England." B.O., Pirate Rick, and I were never quite certain just who we were hanging out with, but we loved the guy. We learned only his first name, but due to the discretion I witnessed on his part, I'll just call him "William," which wasn't it. He may or may not be famous, but he certainly works with some very famous musical artists who shall likewise remain unnamed. He's some sort of producer or songwriter. I guess what sold me on William's authenticity was the fact that he really wasn't into name dropping or talking in any specific terms about the people he works with, who are - trust me on this one - world famous. And he never mentioned them for the sake of mentioning them, but in the context of some funny story in which these guys played a role.
So, we were hanging out with him on the patio when the subject of hula-hooping-beer-pouring servers came up. William had no clue what a hula-hoop was. I guess that's an American thing, I don't know, but he was so intrigued by the idea that he leapt from his chair and struck out on foot for the store up the way so he could buy a hula-hoop. He came back minutes later with a big smile on his face and a swimming noodle in his hand. He seemed genuinely downcast at learning what he bought was decidedly not a hula-hoop. Anyway, I went back to the store myself, secured a hula-hoop, and it was showtime. Teakwooods servers, Miss L and Miss K, absolutely rocked, with virtually no beer spillage whatsoever. William thought he'd died and gone to heaven.
And that explains the hula-hoop and noodle in my hand when I arrived home.
I'm still not sure how I ended up with William's shirt sleeve. He was inside the bar, saying his goodbyes, and when he came out, his left shirt sleeve had been cut off and he was carrying it in his hand. Now, this was a very, very, nice shirt. We're talking expensive. The kind I never buy because I won't part with $200 for one shirt. William handed me the sleeve and headed home.
And that was that.
Whose sleeve do I now own? Hell if I know. But I'm going to hang on to it for a while, just in case.
|
Didn't think so. It was a first for me as well.
Teakwood Wednesdays have become quite the attraction these days, with hula-hooping-beer-pouring servers, boob-flashing women (OK, woman. Just one), short stories and long laughs. But last night, thrown into this mix, was an interesting chap from "the north of England." B.O., Pirate Rick, and I were never quite certain just who we were hanging out with, but we loved the guy. We learned only his first name, but due to the discretion I witnessed on his part, I'll just call him "William," which wasn't it. He may or may not be famous, but he certainly works with some very famous musical artists who shall likewise remain unnamed. He's some sort of producer or songwriter. I guess what sold me on William's authenticity was the fact that he really wasn't into name dropping or talking in any specific terms about the people he works with, who are - trust me on this one - world famous. And he never mentioned them for the sake of mentioning them, but in the context of some funny story in which these guys played a role.
So, we were hanging out with him on the patio when the subject of hula-hooping-beer-pouring servers came up. William had no clue what a hula-hoop was. I guess that's an American thing, I don't know, but he was so intrigued by the idea that he leapt from his chair and struck out on foot for the store up the way so he could buy a hula-hoop. He came back minutes later with a big smile on his face and a swimming noodle in his hand. He seemed genuinely downcast at learning what he bought was decidedly not a hula-hoop. Anyway, I went back to the store myself, secured a hula-hoop, and it was showtime. Teakwooods servers, Miss L and Miss K, absolutely rocked, with virtually no beer spillage whatsoever. William thought he'd died and gone to heaven.
And that explains the hula-hoop and noodle in my hand when I arrived home.
I'm still not sure how I ended up with William's shirt sleeve. He was inside the bar, saying his goodbyes, and when he came out, his left shirt sleeve had been cut off and he was carrying it in his hand. Now, this was a very, very, nice shirt. We're talking expensive. The kind I never buy because I won't part with $200 for one shirt. William handed me the sleeve and headed home.
And that was that.
Whose sleeve do I now own? Hell if I know. But I'm going to hang on to it for a while, just in case.
