Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
“No it's
not
! It's not a bad check unless it bounces. The checks above it won't clear for seven
days. Or nine! We'll cover it.”
“What if it rains?” That question had brought the first lecture on attitude. Twenty years
later investment bankers would money-manage economic collapse on that same approach.
The partner, sadly, got no millions for his vision, not one.
It rained. A few checks bounced, requiring phone calls and happy explanations on true
intent and resolution from a Master of Business Administration. As a major in leg and reefer
I then required that all dollars written into any check would be considered spent. It sounded
like a theorem, graduate level.
Once spent, those dollars could not be spent again.
He called me amazing with money and laughed that it must be those Jewish genes.
As a recreation director for a major resort hotel he'd learned a thing or two about service.
Still early in our liaison, when I viewed fifty dollars as potential inventory, we pulled into a
hotel, where he tipped the parking valet fifty dollars. As I stared in shock, sputtering what the
fuck, he said, “Trust me on this one. Watch me get their attention. This is gonna be fun.”
That is, he'd seen wealthy people tip heavily on arrival at a posh hotel, causing murmurs
from valet to bell to fine dining, setting up gold-star service down the line for a fifty or hun-
dred dollar tip from the man—what he most wanted to be. I remained skeptical through
checkout with nary a twitch in service. Had I missed something in our return on investment?
He mumbled about attitude and loosening up then too, explaining that sometimes returns are
deferred, like when a parking valet would remember the man from last year. Word gets out
quickly that the man is back.
Oh, brother. But it was good, with the wine and reefer loosening us up on a camping trip.
It was wilderness time, still the best time, time to relax and to point out that my cynical view
had spawned a dynamic media campaign.
“That's fine. I wouldn't change that for anything. But who do you think can live with your
distrust every day?”
“Distrust?”
“You distrust my judgment.”
“Ah. Well, my ex-wife couldn't live with it either.”
“No, and I don't blame her.”
“You never met her.”
“I can imagine. Oh, man, I can imagine!”
The breeze had increased into twilight and was stiff by nightfall, nature's bluster preempt-
ing that of the partner. I brewed espressos and stoked the pipe, lighting it with great effort in
the wind. Another vintage wine for vintage fellows would come next.
He began again on trust, business, worldview and women, using his new girlfriend as a
shining example of “what two people can have together.” He was married with seven children.
