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April 2, 2012 |
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Ignoring
Clint Eastwood's advice in "Dirty Harry" that
opinions, like certain body parts, are best kept to
yourself.
Being Young
and Dumb in Montana |
"Grace,
I give you the boy. Give me back the man."
Lee Marvin as Ben Rumson in "Paint
Your Wagon" 1969
I was in Ruby
Garrett's fine establishment in 1964. Seriously, I was. Ruby
would have been in prison for killing her husband then, but
the place was still operating in her absence.
As a
young 20 year old assistant bank examiner, I wound-up there
one evening with two of my fellow employees, $15 in hand,
and scared to death. One of my friends rang the doorbell and
an old woman let the three of us in, and we were escorted to
a waiting room off to the right. I remember it was much like
what you'd find in a doctor or dentist office, nice chairs,
a coffee table, end tables, lamps, even had a few magazines,
but who had time to read, and I was starting to wonder what
the heck I was doing there.
In a few minutes, the
old woman was back with three young women, all dressed in
brightly colored baby doll pajamas, with lots of cleavage
showing, and all striking a pose not unlike
the
one Angelina Jolie made famous at the 2012 Academy Awards.
"Here
are your girls, boys!" she said, and my two buddies
jumped up, each grabbing one, and down the hall they went. I
was on my feet, and looking around for the fire exit. The
third woman reached out and took my hand, "Come on,
honey, let's go up to my room", she said. I shook
her free as I started to go into shock, mumbled something
about leaving my wallet in the bar, and made a bee-line for
the door. "You'll let me back in, won't you?"
I lied to the old woman. "Sure, sure ... "
she said, pretending to believe me. I was scared to
death, any thoughts I'd had about discovering something new
and interesting were ancient history, I wanted out of there,
and it seemed an eternity for that door to be unlocked and
opened.
I waited outside under the street light,
and in about 30 minutes my two pals came out $15 bucks
poorer, but not minding. We all headed back to the bar,
where I was razzed for the rest of the evening for being
such a chicken.
Memories. Losing them has to be
one of the worst parts of that death thing.
Global
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