1) Craps table at The Venetian, past midnight but well before big mistake time, 88%-unwelcome man hand around waist, a bit o cheddar on the pass line, three hundred on hard eight, one eye on the table other on my younger sister and chachi in a euro-fit button-up, and he says, the guy with the old school moves, "Movies, I love movies. If it weren't for movies and sports, I wouldn't have a personality." Proved moments later, waist freed for the moment of an across-the-table fist-bump with Chach, watching three more bills cave into the dealers table with the push of a tiny plexiglass slab, "shake and bake baby, shake and bake..." Ahahahahah. Do I know where that is from? I want my money back.
2) Industrial park office meeting room. Eight chairs, six white boards, and a particle board table. One minute after contractor, a fifty-fiftysomething grandaddy sales guy, wearing wrinkles, several divorces, three downsizes, and a dated suit, has just left. Free starbucks (melty vanilla bean frappuccinos separating into milky water and house brews nin drip-stained cups), some product samples, me and my sales manager remain. The manager smirks at me, "You see that guy? He used to work for me - about three years ago when I first came to Southern Cal. I'd go on ride-alongs with him and before each call he'd make us sit in the parking lot and listen to the craziest death metal music, like an entire song, he'd bang his head and hit the dashboard with his fists and everything. And afterwards he'd turn the car stereo off and look at me and say, That just gets me so pumped up to sell."
3) Nat and I checking out "I Brake for Quail" bumper stickers at a cash-only gas station and souvenir shop off the I-40 in AZ. The other three customers in the place know the motormouth cashier, billybob jebadiaha or jacob or eziekel with a watermelon stomach (and maybe the goodhandwriting for all the personalized sales and haveapennyleaveapenny signs placed all over the joint). They are talking, they are smelling like three cases of cheetos, Beam, and Bud. "Jesus Hank, you into it already today?" "Yeah, wha else I goh? I got furrred yesterday." "Oh sorry to hear that. I thought things were going well." "I guess the guy with the F250, the red one, came back bitching about how I fuhed up his breaks." "Didja?" "I dunno, nah way of knowing, they wouldn't even listen to my side of the story...yeah the brakes didn't work when he came back..buh the guy was a real muther fuher man." "Hey, Hank, you wacha the...lang" "Surry man.." "Where were you at again, at the Mobil?" "Nah, I was wurking at Brake Masters."
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