We went to a fairly upscale restaurant. We usually sit at the bar and saw there were two seats so we head down there.
As I’m sitting down I asked the guy next to me, a short, fat, loutish gentleman, who had sprawled out far and wide, if the balled up napkin in front of my seat was his. He turned around said,
“Whose do you think it would be?”
“The last person who sat here? Or maybe someone with over reaching boundaries.”
He grumbles and, in an attempt to further impress his bimbo, oh, sorry, lunch companion, says,
“Do you know who I am? I could have you killed.”
I calmly sat down and said,
“Do you know who I am? I’d kill you myself. Now, who has the more pressing issue?”
He looks at me and, knowing the glaring could go on for hours, knew I had to hit him with a capper. I smiled, leaned in and said,
“Then I’d put your life-less body in your Maserati and light it on fire.”
I sat back and watched him blinking in disbelief.
“How do you know what I drive?”
I didn’t. Educated guess.
He looked like a pretender who’d have the leased Acura looking Maserati parked next to our truck. I smiled one last time and said,
“Have a nice lunch.”
Lest you feel I was too hard on the gentleman, who kept his back solidly to me from then on, let me give you a snippet of conversation between him and the trollop, sorry again, I, of course, meant lunch companion.
She got a phone call from work. Seems there’s a big conference call. She’s just learned about it and, because of the participants, has a little trepidation about her continued employment. So, gentleman that he is, says,
“Don’t worry. If you get canned I’ll let you work for me as a UDS.”
“Under desk secretary.”
He slapped a Centurion AmEx card down, making sure it was perfectly placed on the bar so no one could miss it, and I swear I heard her zipper go down.
I guess one gets the company one deserves.