A Shiny Night in the Big Easy

We flew into New Orleans late on a Saturday afternoon in April, where we were meeting our good friends Toni and Tammy-two sisters from Jacksonville, Florida and their good friend (now ours too), Julie.

Toni and Tammy are two of the most generous people you’d ever meet. They both have a zest for life and like all of my friends, love a good time.

The three of them arrived a day before us so they had ample time to shop and drink before our arrival. I gave them one assignment “to have a cocktail waiting for us” and they accomplished this with flying colors.

 Our welcome present

I refer to this particular group of friends (myself and Anthony included) as the “Queens of Shiny Things”; meaning whenever we’re together, we become easily distracted. It doesn’t matter what it is; a pretty ring, a happy puppy or something as simple as a dandelion, if one of us sees something that intrigues us, we follow it like Dorothy and her entourage on the yellow brick road. We also become very focused in our conversations and once we get deep into a topic, we don’t hear or see anything going on around us.

After a delicious meal of traditional New Orleans fare, we decided it would be fun to walk around the French Quarter until we found just the right place for music.

That weekend happened to be The French Quarter Music Festival, so there were even more live performers than usual in this city known for it’s music and food.

As we started our journey, we came across an amazingly talented street violinist, who played the electric violin. We stood around with a small group of fans listening to her until we decided to find something else shiny.

 

Street Performers and Tammy

Making our way along the French Quarter, with Toni and I in the lead, someone in the back must have seen something exciting and decided to follow it, splitting our group in two. Toni and I were chatting about how hair color dictates fashion when we realized we were separated from the rest of our group. “Where did they go?”, I asked, knowing full well Toni didn’t know any more than I did. “I don’t know, but I have to pee”, Toni said with a little dance. And I did too, so we found the closest and least of the undesirable bars to stop into.

This is where we met Bob.

Bob was a shirtless and very colorful homeless person adorned with many necklaces, peace sign earrings, and dark sunglasses. He had gray shoulder length hair tied into pig tales with weaved flowers across the top of his head (think Frida Kahlo meets a skinny, drugged induced Santa Claus). And Bob was as eccentric inside as he was outside. His tales were interesting and sincere, and he exuded wit and charm.  And he took a liking to us, especially Toni.

Along with being one of the most gracious and genuine people on earth, Toni is truly interested in people’s stories and what brings them to where they are in life. But along with her genuineness comes a slight bit of naivety, and what she didn’t realize was that for Bob, this was love at first sight.

“Now tell me your story of Katrina”, Toni asked of her new friend. Toni loved to hear locals retell their stories of surviving the most devastating hurricane in U.S history. After hearing Bob’s long first chapter about how the storm rolled in, Toni wanted more, so she went on by asking “how did you survive the storm living in that box”. Bob was thrilled someone had taken an interest in him and although he seemed harmless, I could tell by the look in his eyes that he was becoming more and more infatuated with his love interest.  “Oh Bob, it must have been terrible having nothing but cardboard between you and the water”, she continued. Bob was in heaven as he kept telling his heroic tales of riding out the storm in a U-haul container. Not to stereotype, but I’ve found one of the problems with striking a conversation with Homeless Bob’s is that they don’t know when to stop. To them, the line between standard social homeless etiquette and wanting a lifelong commitment is blurred. This was proven when after about ten minutes of chitchat; Bob invited us over to his box for a nightcap. I had to think fast because Toni was clueless that she was only moments away from a marriage proposal.

 I knew I couldn’t do it alone, so I decided to step aside and call Anthony. “Where are you?” I whispered through clenched teeth. “Oh, we’re in a store” he said, “they have the cutest coasters, I think we should get them for the island”. “I don’t care about your stupid coasters”, I snapped, “get your ass here now, we met a homeless man named Bob who has fallen in love with Toni. She won’t stop asking him questions about Katrina, he thinks they’re dating, I think he plans to make her Mrs. Bob and bare his children and I can only hope they have her genes. I need you guys to get here fast before I end up a bridesmaid at a toothless wedding, HURRY!”

After giving him the name of the bar, Anthony assured me he was on his way, but said I should try to get Toni away from Bob as soon as possible. After I hung up, I returned to the happy couple. “So, Bob, Toni and I are going to head off now to find some good music, it was nice meeting you”.  “Oh, I know just the place”, Bob said, “follow me”. “Thanks, but our friends are on their way and I think they have other plans”, I said as I tried to end their affair. “But, Jeff, if Bob knows of a great place, we should go there”, Toni interjected. “Yes, but I think Tammy already has a plan”, I gently disagreed. “No she doesn’t, she was hoping we’d meet someone that would tell us where to go, remember”.  My exit strategy obviously was not going to work, so I had to get Toni away from Bob so I could let her know what Bob’s intentions were. “Can I see you for a second?” I said in my high-pitched voice as I pulled her aside.

“He has a huge crush on you”, I began “so unless you have a thing for unstable men that call a parking lot home, I suggest we get away from him”. “Oh no, he doesn’t, he’s just a lovely man”, Toni said. “Really, then why is he picking flowers from his hair and making you a bouquet?” Toni looked over at Bob, who, as he was carefully putting flowers together, caught her eye and blew a kiss in her direction. “Oh-no, Oh my, what are we going to do?” Toni asked in a panic. “Just do what I do and follow my lead”, even though I had no clue what that was going to be.  

“See you Bob, take care”, I said as I began pulling Toni toward the door. “Wait, I made something for you”, said the desperate stalker as he came toward us with his floral arrangement in hand. “Look, isn’t it pretty”. We were almost out the door when the shiny thing struck again. “Oh, yes, those are beautiful, where do you get your flowers”? “TONI”, I demanded, “focus, don’t ask him anymore questions, we are trying to get away, remember?” “Oh yeah, I almost forgot, let’s go”.

We almost made it too; but Anthony, Tammy and Julie arrived just as we were making our getaway. “Hi guys, where’d you go”, Julie asked, followed by “who’s your friend?” SERIOUSLY???

Toni and Bob

I decided to give up on my mission to save Toni from her “husband in waiting” and went with the flow. We ended up being escorted by Bob to the bar where his favorite band was playing. “They’re really good”, Bob said as we stood outside the door, “but we’ll have to listen to them from here because I’m not allowed in”. Sensing there was a story there, I grabbed Toni by the hand before she had the chance to ask him about it and pulled her inside while bidding farewell, “oh, that’s too bad Bob, but we really need a drink, I gotta pee again and it’s supposed to rain.

Lessoned Learned: When in New Orleans, always have an exit strategy.

One thing I can say about Bob is that he did have good taste in music. Although it wasn’t typical New Orleans Jazz or Cajun, but something called Zydeco (think bluegrass with a combination of country and Hillbilly), I really liked it.

Now, I don’t know about you, but I’ve found in every group, no matter the size, there is an adult; meaning the person who makes sure everything is under control and that no one wakes up in the morning in a stranger’s bed. In our case, it was always Tammy. Tammy has an incredible amount of common sense and knows when it’s time to leave the party. She’s the first one to buy a round of drinks, but also the first one to make sure we stay hydrated.

The bar was packed, but we got lucky; a group of people had just left and we found ourselves sitting in the front row. I love watching people dance, so it was a perfect seat.

Julie, Toni, Anthony, me and Tammy

Anthony is a great dancer, so when Julie dragged him on the dance floor, it was no surprise that he jumped at the chance. Next up was Tammy. This surprised me; Tammy was the adult and was supposed to watch over us as we stumbled around, not be one of the stumblee’s. Toni and I watched in horror as our designated adult grabbed a washboard vest from one of the performers, strap it on and begin playing it on stage. “Oh my God, we have to go”, I said to Toni, “Tammy is out of control, who’s going to watch us?” It was then that I realized something disturbing; I was the evening’s adult and it was frightening. I’m usually the one kissing strangers at the bar or the first one naked at a pool party; this was simply not a role I was familiar with. So I did what any other adult would do, I got another drink.

Upon my return, I found myself being pulled onto the dance floor. No one ever believes me when I say I can’t dance. But I really can’t. I can tap my fingers in rhythm, but the minute I add feet, I look like a drunken windmill on Ecstasy. It just isn’t pretty. “Oh, no, I can’t dance”, I said to the stranger. This was answered with a loud screeching “Woot-Woot”. And tonight’s attempt was no different. It didn’t take long, however for my mullet headed dance partner to realize I made Elaine from Seinfeld look like a pro before she walked away. This type of dance floor abandonment used to humiliate me, but now I find humor in watching the look on my partner’s face as they begin to realize what they’ve got themselves into. It’s funny to watch the terror in their eyes as they move one way and I mimic them until our heads collide or when I twirl them around and end up twirling myself in circles until I fall down. And it always ends with me saying the same old thing “See, I told you I can’t dance”.

The beauty of my lack of rhythm is that once I’ve proven to the entire bar that I’m a hazard on the dance floor, I’m usually not asked again.

After I made my way to the sideline, I watched for a while as everyone took turns wearing and playing the washboard vest. “Come on Jeff, it’s your turn to wear it”, said Anthony, knowing I wouldn’t. “No thank you”, I said, “you’re wearing it just fine”. It may have been jealousy because I didn’t know the first thing about playing a vest, but it just seems wrong to be wearing an old fashioned washing machine/musical instrument that’s cleverly disguised as the newest trend in fashion.

After a couple more cocktails, I decided if I was going to be the “adult of the evening”, I had the right to announce that it was time to go. So, I did, and they followed. “Wow, that was easy”.

“Where to next?”  Toni, Tammy, Julie or Anthony asked as we made our way down the street. I just continued walking, knowing they couldn’t possible be asking me this question. “Do we know where we’re going yet?” one of my entourage inquired after a few more blocks of walking aimlessly. I am not good at planning and I was quickly realizing that the adult of the evening was not only is in charge of getting everyone home safe, they are also responsible for determining the agenda. This was definitely out of my comfort zone; I’m a follower.

Not knowing the city at all, I wasn’t sure what to do, but my followers were in desperate need of direction. So, I had to be brave. I channeled Jim Jones, took a deep breath and blurted out “let’s go to Bourbon Street”.

My posse was now happy, we had a plan and their fearless leader was going to take care of them.

Not having a clue where Bourbon Street was, I hailed the first cab I saw and demanded he take us there. “Dude, I’d be happy to take you there, but it’s right behind you” said the slightly sarcastic cabbie as he pointed to a street sign above my head with the word Bourbon on it. “Oh, well, then thanks”.

“Now, lets all stay together”, I dictated as we made the turn onto a very loud, seedy and somewhat sticky road with thousands of our closest friends. And in under a minute, I was alone, my people were M.I.A. and I was being stalked by a large creepy kitty cat.

Beware of the Kitty Cat

I started to walk back from the way we came and found Toni walking by herself. “Where is everyone”, I asked her in which she replied, “I don’t know, they were here a minute ago”. I told her to stay put while I go look for the others. The first one I found was Anthony and he seemed oblivious that he was alone “where did everyone go?” I asked and his reply was exactly the same as Toni’s “I don’t’ know, they were here a minute ago”.

“I took him by the hand and led him to where Toni was, only now, she was gone. “Doesn’t anyone do what they’re asked?!" This was seriously like one of those dreams where you’re running and running but you aren’t’ getting anywhere.

“O.K, you stay put and if you see Toni, make her stay with you, O.K?” Anthony agreed. So, again I made my way down the street searching for my easily distracted friends. This time I didn’t see them, but Toni found me. “Where did you go?” she asked. “Where did I go? Where did you go?” I yelled. Realizing none of this mattered; I grabbed her by the hand and led her to Anthony. “Now, we need to stay together or we’ll never get out of here, just stay with me”.  I assumed that by now, Julie and Tammy must have passed us up, so we moved forward along the Mardi Gras route. “There they are” I heard Toni say as she broke away from us, disappearing into the crowd. Anthony and I walked in the direction where we last saw Toni, but she was gone. “Oh my God, how does this keep happening?”

 We had no choice but to keep moving, the crowd was getting larger and larger and everyone kept moving forward. It was like we were a part of a flock of birds flying south, there was no way out.

We finally made it to an intersection and we stepped aside to get our bearings and I lost it, “I just can’t be Dad anymore, I suck at it. So far, with me in charge, Toni nearly married Mr. Cardboard, Tammy bought a washboard vest on Amazon and I’m sober. I’m just not good at it, I'm supposed to be the lost drunk talking to strangers!”

And with that, Anthony assumed the "Dad" role and within a matter of seconds, he found our wandering friends. “Look, there they are, see Jeff, everything is just fine, I don’t know why you got so upset”. I wanted to kill them all! It seems my three amigos found entertainment in watching a man do funny tricks with a folding ladder in the middle of the street, “Isn’t he great?” asked Tammy, followed by Julie asking “don’t you just love him?” I couldn’t believe it, all this time and effort we spent looking for them and they didn’t even realize they were missing; they thought we were with them the entire time.

After reuniting, we decided it was time to head back to the hotel for a nightcap before something else captured our attention. We found a taxi large enough to fit all of us and we instructed the driver to take us back no matter what we say (or see).

Other images from the rest of the weekend.

 

Rumored to be the largest wine cellar in the south

Street Band in the Big Easy

Boats and Busses and John....Oh My!

When it comes to planning a vacation, there are three elements in which I consider the most important: Where to go, how much it is going to cost and most importantly, who else is going.

Most vacations we take are with just each other, occasionally with a small group, once in a while with one other couple, rarely with family, but never again with parents.

Before I begin my story, here are two short bios on Anthony’s Mom, Lillian and his Stepfather, John.

Lillian has quite a presence and is a bit on the eccentric side. It’s very difficult to describe her, but if I had to pick one word it would be gypsy. She was born in southern France, raised on the island of Corsica, married an American soldier (Anthony’s Dad), moved to the U.S in the late 1940’s and has never worn a bra. Even though she’s been in this country for seventy years, she still has a very strong French accent with a high pitch that only dogs can hear.

John passed away over ten years ago. But he was very much alive and was as much a character as Lillian. He was of Lebanese decent, and even though he was raised in Detroit, he had a loud booming undetectable accent of his very own (his th’s sounded like d’s). He was well over six feet tall and 250 pounds so he too had quite a presence.

They were perfect for each other; they both did and said whatever they wanted and neither one had a clue what the other was saying or doing.

John & Lillian

John & Lillian used to travel to France every year, but as they were getting older, it was getting harder and harder for them to get around. So, one winter, we thought we would ask them if they wanted to join us on a cruise. We had never been on one before so we wanted to see what all the fuss is about.

For those of you who have never taken a cruise with your parents, all I can say is “Don’t”. It has nothing to do with not loving them or not enjoying their company. It’s just that when totally healthy parents realize that their grown children are held captive with them on a floating prison for seven days, they tend to turn into three year old children.

It’s weird, it’s like they suddenly forgot how to live.They can’t eat, drink, dress themselves or do anything on their own. It doesn’t matter if they live independently, cook their own meals, drive, or even work full time, the minute their kids are around; they become helpless.

Anthony and I had travelled with parents before so we had an idea of what to expect. So in order to have fun, we knew we couldn't do this alone, so we asked his sister Rebecca if she would like to join us. And she did!

The official "Welcome Aboard" photo

The first day of the cruise came and we immediate started to have fun. We were one of the first people to board so we had the ship to ourselves for a couple of hours. Anthony, Rebecca and I all shared a cabin and right after we unpacked, Anthony went to settle his parents in. As soon as he left, I noticed something; "look, the plank-way is right outside our porthole and everyone has to pass us to get on board”.  Knowing you could only see out the window and not in, we started to make faces at all the arriving passengers. “Look at me, I’m an angry Pug”, I said as I smashed my nose into the window. “I’m a troll doll”, Rebecca said as she messed her hair up and opened her eyes really wide. We spent at least fifteen minutes distorting our faces against the glass until finally, one of the passengers laughed and made the same crinkled face back at us. “Oh my God, they can see us”, I said as I realized the glass wasn’t one way. “Oh no”, yelled Rebecca as she realized that earlier she had nearly mooned an entire family.

At that moment, I desperately wanted to go back in time, but we couldn’t. We had no choice but to hope we made ourselves look so distorted that no one would recognize us.

The next day was a “day at sea”; meaning, the ship didn’t port anywhere. It was also a day to relax by the pool and get to know our fellow passengers. After the porthole incident, Rebecca and I didn’t want to be recognized, so we wore dark glasses and pretended to sleep while Anthony read his book and Lillian and John stared at the people walking by. I was almost asleep when I heard a loud and obnoxious voice say, “O.K., it’s time for pool games”. “Give someone a microphone and they think they own the world” I said as I rolled over. “O.K., ‘Happy’, that’s the Cruise Director, so wake up and have fun now”, Anthony said to me. “Fine!”

John, Rebecca and I (notice Rebecca and I are doing our best at being incognito)

The Love Boat reject was up there doing her best to rally the crowd. She led us in exhaustive games of Finish the Lyric, Love and Marriage and Best Joke. We were even treated to The Hairy Chest Contest. As much as I hated to admit it, I was starting to have fun.

There was one last game left for the afternoon. I forgot the name, but it was right up my alley. It had to do with storytelling. She would ask something like “Who has a secret?” or “who has a story about their kids first day of school?”. Anyone thinking they had a great tale to tell could raise their hand and if she picked them, they got to go up on the platform and tell it. Afterward, the audience voted on their favorites. Easy.

It was actually fun listening to everyone’s stories. That is until the final question…

“Who here has a hidden tattoo?” Suddenly and without warning, John started waving both of his large hands high into the air while bellowing “I DO! I DO!” After struggling to get out of his chair, he walked as fast as he could toward the platform. “Dad has a hidden tattoo?” Rebecca asked her mom, who hadn’t a clue what was happening. “If he does, I don’t want to see it”, I said. There was no waiting to be chosen, John was going to participate if it killed him. It was as though he had just won the Oscar, he trekked his way along the pool deck and up to the stage with the now frightened Cruise Director in record time.

“Oh, O.K., Well then, Sir, do you have a hidden tattoo?” she asked nervously. I’m sure I wasn’t alone in hoping he wasn’t going to drop his shorts right then and there. “Please don’t, please don’t”, I said to Rebecca. It seemed like it took hours for him to finally speak and the silence was agonizing. We had already alienated ourselves from half the ship with our “funny” faces; we didn’t need to add “proud siblings of a flasher” to our repertoire.

Then, he finally spoke, “Dere, See?” he said as he pointed to forearm. “Sir, I don’t see anything”, said the now sweaty hostess followed by a nervous laugh. “I had a tattoo, but it was removed, so now it’s hidden”. The stunned crowd erupted in applause and cheers as Julie McCoy awarded him his prize; a bottle of Champagne.

I couldn’t believe it. John was now the most popular man on the ship.

The week was starting to fly by and we were already half way through our trip and we decided it would be fun to sign up for a Land and Sea excursion. This fun-filled day started by bus at a small port in St. Lucia, where we would take a tour of the island, stop at a Botanical Garden, then wrap up with a boat trip to a beautiful sandy bay up the coast.

We boarded the bus early in the morning with about twenty other passengers wo were all very excited to hear all about the island, it’s banana fields, culture and native foods.

“One of the stops along our way” said our guide “is going to be a place where you can buy Hardwood”. After a few chuckles, she explained that “Hardwood” is a concoction that you could purchase in hopes of increasing the male sex drive. A sort of Viagra Juice.

It took a while for John to fully comprehend what she was saying, but as soon as he did, he perked right up. With a raise of the eyebrow and a wink toward Lillian, he said “I gotta get me some of dat”. “U-huh”, was all I could say in my high pitched, uncomfortable voice, as I desperately tried to erase the vision of John nestling up to Lillian after a tall glass of “Hardwood on the Rocks”.

As our tour progressed, our island native guide pointed out the various flora and fauna on the island, along with the long history. She was very good at her job too; every time she would inform us about something, she’d finish by asking if anyone had any questions. If they did, she would repeat their question so we could all hear it, then proceed to answer.

As we passed the Grand Piton’s, she gave gave us some facts about the two volcanic tips, then asked if anyone had any questions. And John, in the same fashion as the tattoo game, started waving both his hands high into the air.

Our guide made her way down aisle to John with her microphone in hand. 

Here’s how the rest of their conversation went. And I kid you not…

Guide: Yes, Mon, what is your question?

John: Do you have a lot of black people here?

Guide: Mon, what was your question?

John: I said, do you have a lot of black people here?

Guide: Did you just ask if we have a lot of black people on the island’?

John: Yeah, I noticed a lot of dem.

Guide: (into her mic). Why, yah mon, we have many kinds of people on St. Lucia.

Now, you’d think this was the worst part, but it wasn’t…

John: (now with the microphone in his hand) Well, I was wondrin’ (dramatic pause) do your black people carjack?

Honest to God, he just asked our guide (who happened to be black), if her black people steal cars. And to make it worse, the guide obviously thinking she misunderstood him, repeated his question louder and clearer into the microphone, twice, so everyone could hear it. After sinking lower in our seats, I decided the only thing I could do was to try Telepathy. I concentrated on the guide and tried sending her a mental message; “Just walk away from him-PLEASE, walk away, walk away, walk away”.  But it didn’t work and the disaster continued…

Guide: Mon, let me make sure I understand. Do you want to know if my black people carjack?

(Pause and audible gasps)

John: Well, yeah! I’m from Detroit and dey do up dere?

Guide: No, I don’t think we have that on St. Lucia.

(Longer pause)

John: Well, I was just curious, dats all.

(Even longer Pause)

Guide: O.K.

(Eternity)

Then she finally walked away.

As embarrassing as this was, there was still an entire afternoon ahead of us and it was only going to get worse.

John with the Grand Piton's behind him

After we stopped for our sample of “Hardwood” and everyone boarded the bus awaiting our drive to the next destination, John announced that he had to “go pee-pee”. ”O.K., mon, but we are on a schedule, so please do so as fast as you can”, said our understandably irritated guide. So, John did just as she asked. As a matter of fact, John peed very quickly. He didn’t even waste time finding a bathroom. He got off the bus, walked a few steps, undid his pants, let them drop, and peed on the side of the road.

We tried closing our eyes to make it go away, but it didn’t work. Every time we opened them, there he was, facing away from us, pants around his ankles and relieving himself in full view of a bus full of people.

After re-boarding the bus and facing the stunned faces of the families, John settled back into his seat and we were on our way to our next stop, the sea portion. 

When we arrived, I was relieved to see a large group of people from other busses embarking the large tour boat. And they were new people; people that hadn’t experienced John over the last two hours. So we seized the opportunity to put the mortification from the morning behind us and sat next to people that didn't know us.

We took a short boat ride to a beautiful bay that had some coral reefs and was surrounded by a welcoming sandy beach. It was fairly shallow so the boat had to moor in the middle of the bay and if we wanted to go ashore, we had to swim a short distance from the boat to the beach. “If you wish to go in the water, be sure you are able to tread water and are in good shape because it is well over your head”, said the announcer, followed by “if you can’t swim, we ask that you stay aboard during our short visit here”.

Anthony, Rebecca and I decided we could handle the short swim to the beach, plus it would give us a few minutes away from Lillian and John, so we decided to go for it. As we were standing in line waiting our turn to jump in the water, we felt John’s presence a few people behind us. “Dad, what are you doing? You have to be in good shape and be able to swim, didn’t you hear them?” Rebecca asked her father, over the heads of the other swimmers. “I can swim, I was in da navy” yelled the towering man from the back of the line. “No, Dad, you can’t, the water is over your head-you can’t go in!” The pressure was mounting as we were next in line and the people behind us were getting annoyed. We had to make a decision quick; do we jump in and hope that he comes to his senses or do we stay on the ship to keep him from jumping? It was do or die time and we were just about to get out of line when we heard John announce “Fine, O.K., you guys go and I’ll wait here”.

Whew!

We proceeded to jump in one by one, first Anthony, then Rebecca and me. As we started the short swim to the beach we heard the gentle splashes of others jumping in behind us, splash, splash, splash. The peaceful rhythm was soon interrupted however with a very loud SPALASSSSHHHH! Followed by “WAIT FOR ME REBECCA!” Not wanting to face the reality of the situation, the three of us refused to turn around. “REBECCA, WAIT, WAIT, WAIT!” We had no choice; we had to turn around to see John flapping around. A few people in the water started swimming toward the dog paddling man to see if was O.K. “Do you need help” asked someone, “who’s Rebecca?” yelled another. We were already almost to the beach and he was yelling to us, “SEE, I CAN SWIM, I’M COMING TOO!” And he was not only coming, he was making good time too, but then something happened. He was literally less than fifteen feet away and he decided he couldn’t swim anymore so he started screaming “HELP ME, HELP ME, I’M DROWNING, HELP!” I think this incident was the straw that broke the camels back for Rebecca and Anthony because they lost it. “Dad, you’re not drowning, it’s not that deep”, said Rebecca. “I CAN’T SWIM NO MORE,” yelled John. “Yes you can, you’re practically to the beach”, yelled Anthony. “NO I CAN’T, I’M GOING TO DIE!” By now the people on the boat started to peer over the side to see what was happening. “Dad, why did you jump in?” screamed Rebecca, “I told you not to, you should have listened”. The small group of gawkers in the water started to pay attention too as Rebecca and Anthony let it all pour out. Dad, you said you could swim, well then swim!” “Yeah, swim!” chimed in Anthony.

The entire day of patience had finally reached it's breaking point as a large crowd, now horrified by the sight of a drowning man being yelled at by his dispicable children as he dies, began glaring at us. It was just about to turn ugly, when John finally was able to touch the bottom. He stood up and walked to shore to the cheers of everyone on the boat. They were ecstatic he was safe, but wanted us dead.

Once we were on shore, we continued to lecture him by asking him how he planned to get back to the boat. “Well, they’re going to have to come get me” he said. “They can’t”, said Anthony, “the boat can’t come in this close”. “Well, they’ll have to figure something out”, John barked.

Sensing there was conflict on shore between the sad, weak and drowning old man and his murderous children, someone from the boat jumped in the water with a surfboard and began swimming toward us. “See, they’re coming to save me”, John announced. And he was right. John’s Knight in Shining Armor arrived on shore, whisked him onto his surfboard and paddled him back to the boat, all amid loud applause from the crowd.

I don’t know how he did it, but John ended up being the most popular man on the ship again and we were nearly lynched.

The cruise ended a few days later with just a few more minor incidents and we left the Caribbean with many memories and gave our fellow Cruisers something to talk about for a long time.

Other images from our cruise

Black tie dinner aboard the ship

Lillian, with John in the background

Not sure what this was about, all I know is that it involved a hat and rum

Making a Splash

Back in the year 2000, we had an opportunity to attend the biggest and most prestigious event in hairdressing history, The Intercoiffure World Congress. The congress, held every four years in a different city somewhere in the world, was extra grand that year. It took place in Berlin during a time when the world’s economy was booming and we were all celebrating the new millennium.

We decided to extend the trip by visiting London before the conference and Prague a few days after. We had never been to any of these cities, so we were very excited to experience them. 

We only had three days in London and tried to see as much as we could. We visited Westminster Abbey, Big Ben, Herrods, The Tower of London, saw the changing of the guards, rode the Millennium Wheel, went to two shows (one being Mama Mia) and visited The War Room. Most people skip the War Room, but this underground compound is where Winston Churchill and his military chiefs strategized and organized Britain’s part in World War Two, I strongly recommend it.

We had a couple of star sightings too. Well, O.K., one and a half. We were obsessed when we saw Andrew Lloyd Webber cocktailing it up in our hotel bar and we were slightly impressed at the sight of Macaulay Culkin. He looked the same as he did in Home Alone, which is unfortunate. It’s one thing when you’re a ten-year-old boy with big eyes, large ears and thin blonde hair, but it’s something completely different when you’re a twenty-year old “has-been” child star.

(Culkin in his earlier days)

(Culkin later)

Another highlight of our trip was taking an evening walking tour of the places where Jack the Ripper stalked and murdered his victims. The setting was perfect and typically London; dark, foggy and cool. As gruesome as his crimes were, there was something addicting about learning how he meticulously cut open his victims and left their corpses in carefully thought-out positions. And since most of his victims were picked up in pubs that are still open, we were able to have cocktails while visiting the morbid murder scenes.

The tour lasted a couple of hours and ended around 9:30. We had plenty to drink, but nothing to eat, so we decided to try out a restaurant that we had read about called The Sugar Club. It had just opened and as is the case with any new restaurant in any city, we knew getting a table would be a long shot, but it was worth a try.

“We’re terribly sorry, but we stop serving at 10:00”, said the very chic, turtleneck-encased host. I don’t know what it is about them, but the Brit’s have this manner that is both aristocratic and posh. They could literally tell you to “go stick your royal crown where the sun don’t shine” and you’d feel complimented and do what they ask. I don’t know how they do it, but they do.

“But it’s only 9:45”, we told the Beatle wanna-be, “and we’re very hungry”. “I’m sorry, but if only you arrived ten minutes prior we could have accommodated you”, Ringo said, “Should I check our guest list for tomorrow evening?” We must have looked very disappointed when we told him that we were leaving for Berlin to attend an International event with Mr. Vidal Sassoon and he highly recommended us to you. “Oh, he will be so disappointed”, I said with my own attempt at a very dramatic and affluent accent. “Well, let me see what I can arrange”, said the suddenly accommodating, Monkee’s reject. And without a moment’s pause, we were being escorted to a table.

Thanks Vidal.

We were seated at a table for two where one of us had to face the wall and the other got to view the restaurant. Being the shy person that I am, I opted to face the wall.  

As we perused the menu, I noticed a table of six men to my right staring at us. “Have you noticed that they keep looking over here?” I asked Anthony. “Ever since we came in, they haven’t taken their eyes off us”. Usually, at this point, Anthony tells me that it’s all just my imagination and I’m being paranoid, but he said that he noticed it too. Choosing to believe that they must think we’re cute, I ignored them.

The restaurant was busy and even though I was facing the wall, I could sense a lot of hustle and bustle going on behind me. “They must be really busy, I said in my “why the hell hasn’t anyone waited on us yet” voice. “You’d think they want us out in a hurry since we are the last people to get seated”, I complained.

I started my usual look around to try and make eye contact with one of the wait people. I found in the past that if I actually make them look me in they eyes, they couldn’t pretend we aren’t there.

It was then that I noticed there were a lot of people working, they just happened to all be attending the six men on the one side of us and the two women on the other. “Excuse m…” I started to ask one of the blurs that whizzed by. “Pardon m…” to another. I really didn’t understand, obviously they know we’re friends with Vidal Sassoon and the table of men proved we looked good, so why were we being ignored?

I was just getting ready to ask for the manager when I glanced slightly toward the women to my left. They were engrossed in conversation, but the one facing me looked familiar. I whispered to Anthony, “Don’t look, but where do I know her from?” “How can I tell you if I can’t look at her”, he murmured back. “O.K., fine, just don’t make a big scene, try to be casual”. Before he had the chance to look, I realized who it was- Darryl Hannah! YES, Darryl Hannah was sitting at the table right next to us. I had to think of something witty and fast to say to her, but what?

Recognizing the look on my face, Anthony knew I figured out who it was and realized it must be someone big. “So, who is it”, he demanded. In my totally inaudible voice I mouthed “Darryl Hannah”. “Who?” He asked in what seemed like a booming voice. “Shhhhhhhhhhh!” I demanded, “She can hear you”. “Who can hear me”, he asked in an equally loud decibel. Through clenched teeth and without moving my lips, I slowly said “Darryl Hannah”. “The Mermaid?” Anthony whispered, as he finally understood me. “Yes, she’s sitting right next to you”.

It was at this point that it all started to make sense. The six men were never looking at us, they were looking at her, we just happened to be in their way. And the reason we were being ignored is because Darryl Hannah was obviously a bigger star than Vidal Sassoon’s best friends.

“Follow my lead”, I said to Anthony as I was devising my plan to meet the half woman, half fish.

I thought about spilling by drink on her friend, but I really liked my wine and didn’t want to waste it. Then I thought about sending her a drink with with a note saying “Loved you in Steel Magnolias”, but that must have been done a million times. Whatever my plan was going to be, I had to act on it fast as the night wasn’t getting any younger and she was already finished with her entrée. THINK, THINK!

Then something happened…

She got up from the table to use the restroom so I seized the moment. “Excuse me Miss, but why are you getting all the attention around here? All the waiters are ignoring me, tell me your secret”. BRILLIANT!

At that moment, Darryl Hannah herself began massaging my shoulders and whispered in my ear “Well, I guess you don’t have what it takes”. OH MY GOD! I thought the men at the next table were going to drop dead. They had been staring at her for hours and nothing. I pretended not to know who she was and BAM!

Her friend laughed at our exchange so I jumped at it. While Miss Hannah was in the ladies room we engaged ourselves in conversation with her. It turned out that she worked for a magazine and was in town interviewing her friend “Dara”. “Oh, and what does “Dara” do”, I asked, trying to get her admit she was dining with a superstar. “Oh, she’s from the states, but she’s in town working on a project”. We conversed the entire time “Dara” was in the ladies room, so when she returned, she had no choice but to join our conversation. And she did so by asking about us.

I couldn’t believe it; I was having a charming conversation about me with a Razzie Winning actress. Funny how the wait staff suddenly couldn’t leave us alone now,  “Sir, would you like to hear the specials”. “ Sir, may I offer you an aperitif?” “Sir, would you care for some fresh bread?” Sir, now that we know you know Darryl Hannah, we’re going to treat you like a celebrity”.

Throughout our entire dinner we chatted about everything from who we thought was cuter, Matt Damen or Ben Affleck (we both agreed it was Ben) to vintage cars (it turns out “Dara” is a old car buff and was extremely interested in the Woodward Dream Cruise).  She even went as far as to invite us to pull up our chairs and share dessert with her, all the while never admitting whom she was. It was crazy; she was more interested in us than we were in her!

It wasn’t until the end of the night and a few glasses of wine later that she finally gave into her true identity. As we were heading out, we hugged good-bye, invited her to Detroit and Anthony told her she was even prettier in person, to which she replied “Thank you…I think”.

When we got back to our hotel we were so giddy, we had to tell someone and the only one in sight was the hotel manager. Obviously unimpressed (and with that same British tone) he told us that Darryl Hannah was indeed in town starring in a play and she had frequented The Sugar Club.

 A few months later we happened to be in an airport and picked up a magazine with Darryl Hannah on the cover. Inside was a full two-page story written by her friend. It began “A couple of months ago, I was having dinner at London’s Sugar Club with my friend Darryl Hannah…” Even though there wasn’t any mention of us in the article, I knew we were the true stars of the night.

The Right to Remain Silent (Or not)

We all have fears and a few years back one of my biggest fears became reality.

I know it’s shocking, but the summer I turned 21, I partied (a lot). I lived in an apartment on the Detroit/Redford border with my friend Ed and although we only lived in the sub-basement abode for eighteen months, we made enough memories to fill a lifetime.

We both had full time jobs and for being in our 20’s, we were both fairly responsible. That is, until the weekends. Once the clock struck Friday night, our motto of “work hard and play harder” kicked in.  We went from “those two nice boys in 3A” to some weird combination of Bevis and Butthead meets The Hardy Boys. Not only did we get into trouble, we searched it out. We did everything from steeling a billboard, because we thought it would look great on our living room wall, to dealing Caffeine Pills and cleverly marketing them as Speed. Our Guardian Angels must have been working overtime, because I haven’t a clue as to how we survived.

One weekend, however, we decided to take it easy. There was a park a couple of blocks away from our place and since it was the first warm weekend of the season, we decided to just chill out and hang there instead of our usual “party like it’s 1999” routine. So, rather than picking up our normal fifth of 5 O’clock Vodka, we opted for a couple of California Coolers instead (remember it was the 80’s).

After we drove around a bit, we parked the car, opened up our wine coolers and started strolling around. Because the weather was so great, the park was exceptionally busy. There was even a big keg party going on that we debated crashing, but for some reason, we were both in a rare non-party mood. As we both sipped our coolers and chatted about the latest episode of The Facts of Life, I noticed an old beat up beige Chevy with two men inside it begin to drive very slowly along side us. “I wonder what they want”, I said to Ed, knowing that I wasn’t being paranoid because I was sober. “Probably nothing” said Ed, “it’s just coincidental”.

As we continued our discussion about whether or not Jo or Mrs. Garrett would ever come out of the closet, I was relieved to see our coincidental stalkers park their car and finally stop following us. “There, see”, said Ed, “they were just looking for a place to park”. Before I could even say, “you’re right”, I found us both  being frisked (not in the good way) and handcuffed (again, not in the good way). With my hands shackled behind my back, I screamed “What is going on? Who are you and what do you want?”  “We’re cops”, said one of the mean, out of shape gym teacher wanna-be’s, as he pushed me toward their car. “I don’t believe you”, I yelled, and with that, he flashed me a badge, asked if that was enough I.D. for me and we were thrown into the back seat of their car.

At that point in my life, I had never been to Mexico, but I was sure they were kidnapping us to sell our organs. I was really attached to my liver and wanted to keep it, so I desperately looked for a way to escape. Unfortunately, with my hands being bound, I had no choice but to  become their hostage.

They told us we were being arrested for drinking in public. “Drinking”, I said. “First of all, I didn’t know drinking was illegal and even if it is, I hardly think a half of a California Cooler constitutes drinking”. Besides, there is an entire keg party going on, why don’t you arrest them?” I asked. “We’re going back for all of them,” said the other mean man, “there’s just so many of them that we need a wagon”. “Great”, I thought, “not only am I going to jail, but it's going to be overcrowded”. This was not going to turn out well.

As we made our way to the station, I eavesdropped on the conversation going on in the front seat between Starsky and Hutch. “Maybe we got the wrong guys,” said one of the coppers. “Yeah, but there’s nothing we can do about it now”, said the other, “we have to arrest them”. As they continued to discuss mine and Ed’s fate, I gathered enough information to realize that although we weren’t the culprits they thought and they arrested us for the wrong reason, they still had to follow through and book us for something to save their asses. So, seeing that our only crime was having open intoxicants in a public park, that had to be it. 

Seriously, of all of the reasons I should have been arrested in the past, this is what does me in? Walking peacefully in the park on a Saturday afternoon while discussing a sitcom?

WHAT THE FUCK!!!!!!!!!

For those of you who have never been arrested, all I can say is I don’t recommend it.

The first thing I had to do was hand over my belongings, including my wallet, watch, rings, sunglasses and keys. Then, we were both fingerprinted, had our mug shots taken and made to surrender our shoelaces. I don’t know why, but for some reason, this sent me over the edge. There was something about taking my shoelaces that made me feel less than human. Up to that point, I thought this misunderstanding was going to be cleared up as soon as our fingerprints cleared and they realized we were just two nice guys from 3A. But there was something about handing over my laces made me realize this was quickly turning into a made for T.V. movie starring Ralph Macchio.

In order to keep my lace-less shoes on, I had to shuffle over to the pay phone for my one and only call and face the dilemma of whom it would be to. Do I call my brother who would think it was funny that his youngest sibling, who was afraid of the crossing guard, was now in a Detroit City Jail? Or do I call my mother, who would panic at the thought of her son marrying a cellmate named Bubba? 

I opted for mom.

“Hi Mom, you’ll never believe where I am”

“Jail”

 “No, no, mom, I’m not at a sale, I said I’m in jail”

“Jail”

“Yes, that’s right mom, jail”

“Yes, that’s what I said”,

“Well, they made a mistake”

“Listen”

“Listen, mom, all that matters right now is getting me out of here, O.K.”

“No, Ed didn’t make me do anything wrong”

“Yes mom, I know not to eat the food”

“No, I don’t need any toilet paper”

“Just come down here and bail me out…O.K.?”

“Love you too”

“Bye-bye”.

As I was ushered to my cell, I passed three or four holding tanks with two or three people in each. “Please”, I thought, “please just have it be Ed and me”. I knew I would never survive being someone’s bitch. Then I saw it, my room for the night. It was sparsely decorated and a bit cold, but it was private. “Thank you”, I said, nearly kissing the guard. He looked surprised, as though no one ever said thanked him for being arrested before. “I appreciate this so much”, I continued as he locked me in. “By any chance, do you know where my friend is?” I asked my hero. “No” was all he said, before he disappeared.

“Pssst.” I heard from the next cell. “Ed?” I asked. “Yes” he whispered and then I saw his hand waving at me as he reached between the jail bars. We were right next to each other. “Are you alone too?” I asked. “Yes” he replied, “they must know we wouldn’t play well with the others,” he said. Laughingly, I agreed.

Since all we could see was each other’s hands, we played a few games of Rock, Paper Scissors and talked about what a great story this would make one day.

“I think I’m going to try and sleep for a bit”, I said, thinking it may make the time go by faster. Just as I shut my eyes I was alarmed by the smell of cigarette smoke. “Is someone smoking in here”, I asked Ed. “Yes, it’s me”, he said, “can you believe it, they let me keep my cigarettes” I couldn’t believe it; they took my shoelaces, but let him keep his cigarettes and his lighter!

“Dude? Gotta another?” a new voice suddenly said from out of nowhere. “Sure”, said Ed. “Thanks” said this unknown criminal. “My buddy wants one too” said the convict. “No problem” said Ed. I couldn’t believe it; Ed was making allies with the other prisoners and I was being left out. That was just like him, always being the popular one. “What are you in for” Ed asked them, “robbery” lied the killer. I couldn’t take it anymore, “Don’t talk to them!” I demanded, “They are bad news”. “Shut up” yelled one of the ax murderers, followed by, “tell your friend to be quiet or else”. Feeling brave and safe with iron bars between us, I retorted “or else what?” What came next haunts me to this day. The hoodlum whispered to Ed thinking I couldn’t hear him, “Dude, when you get out, you have to walk by us, be sure to tell us which one is you and which one is the sissy, because we are going to throw pee on him”. PEE? I can handle a lot, but having pee thrown on me isn’t one of them. “Ed, if you tell them which one of us to target, I’m going to….”and suddenly, my friend the bailiff cut me off. “You guys need to be quiet now, we won’t have any rioting in here”. “Rioting? Strange choice of words”, I thought and highly unfair, especially when I’m the one who’s told to pipe down and they’re the ones threatening to super soak me with urine.

It’s a strange feeling not having any windows or a watch. You haven’t a clue how much time passes, so when the bailiff told me my bail had just been posted, I had no idea what time it was, I was just thrilled to get out of Alcatraz.

Now this is where you'd expect me to say, " and we all lived happily ever after", but that didn't happen.......

Being only 21 and having a record of “Disorderly Conduct” wasn’t going to help me with my career choices, so I decided to argue the charge.  Ed’s cousin was an attorney and agreed to help us pro-bono. He met with us a couple of times and thought we had a good chance at getting the case dropped. He assured us by telling us that there was a good chance they wouldn’t even show up on our court date and that our case would be dismissed. So with full confidence we decided to fight on.

Since there were two officers and two of us, it made sense that there were two court dates. Ed’s was the day before mine and went flawlessly. Just like his cousin said, the arresting officer didn’t show and his case was dropped.

Then came my turn………

In my case, I guess “pro-bono” meant not showing up to court. To start my day off, Ed’s cousin called me in the morning to tell me he wouldn’t be able to make it due to an emergency at home. “But not to worry”, he said, “The guy isn’t going to show anyway”.

WRONG!

Not only did he show, he argued that I was in the wrong and my record should stick. After a couple of minutes of his throwing me under the bus to the judge,  it was my turn.

“JEFFERY DAVISON?” announced the judge in a very large and booming voice. “Yes, your honor”, I said in a very dry and weakened voice. “DO YOU ALSO GO BY THE NAMES ANDREW JAMES, JOE GREENE AND TYRONE JOHNSON?” Thinking I was on Candid Camera, I chuckled “No, your honor”. I seriously thought this was all a joke, I mean did he really think I looked like a Tyrone? Then he said “WELL SOMEONE WITH YOUR NAME ALSO USES THOSE OTHER NAMES AND IS WANTED FOR ARMED ROBBERY AND ASSAULT WITH A DEADLY WEAPON!”

WHAT             

THE                

FUCK?       

Seriously, what are the odds that someone would use those names plus mine as one of their alias'?

This was my biggest nightmare: Arrested and thrown in prison for 50 years due to a case of mistaken identity. You know how they say your life passes before your eyes at the time you die? Well, that didn’t happen; instead, I saw the opposite. I pictured myself spending 50 years doing hard labor, marrying Bubba and finally being released in 2034 as a lonely and broken 70-year-old man not knowing how to even fly a car.

The judge told me that I had to be re-fingerprinted. “THEN WE’LL KNOW FOR SURE IF YOU ARE NOT ALSO ANDREW, JAMES OR TYRONE!” said the towering shadow in an even larger and more echo-y voice.

By now, I was petrified and sweating profusely. I didn’t even know fingers could sweat, but guess what? They can. They sweat so much that my fingerprints kept smudging and they couldn’t be read. “Sir, if you don’t stop sweating, we’re going to have to put you into the holding cell”, said the fingerprint specialist person as she pointed to a door with a small hole covered in jail bars that had ten angry hands clinging to them, while beckoning for someone to join them.

The thought of being thrown into a holding tank with the real Andrew, James and Tyrone frightened me so much that I think my mind realized it was literally do or die time. I was suddenly thrown into some fantasy land. It was really weird, I closed my eyes, took three deep breaths and when I opened them; I swear I saw Cagney and Lacey in the corner of the room giving me their thumbs up. I immediately stopped sweating and was able to complete my fourth and last attempt at fingerprinting, thus proving my innocence.

At the end of the day, I was cleared of the Assault With a Deadly Weapon/Armed Robbery charge but found guilty of the original Disorderly Conduct charge, and I couldn’t have been happier.

The following Saturday was another picture perfect day- sunny, 80 degrees and no humidity and I went to the movies.

Cinderella Saves the Day

As children, we’ve all had crushes. Mine was on Will Robinson from Lost in Space. It wasn’t so much that I found him attractive, it was mainly because he got to hang around a gay robot and a handsome pilot named Don. Along with visiting different planets, he was able to carry a laser gun and do things like pass through a time warp and visit earth in the 1940’s. He was also very brave, I remember watching in awe as he and Penny explored uninhabited lands after surviving meteor storms and aliens that strangely resembled humans.

I had such an obsession that one Christmas, I asked Santa to bring me a model of the Jupiter Two with a complete set of Robinson family action figures. I was so sure that I was going to get them, that my mother had no choice but to look all over town for them.  What she didn’t realize is that they didn’t exist; I just expected Santa’s Elves to make them. 

Anyway, as obsessed as I was with this family from the future, Anthony was doubly obsessed with Cinderella, especially the one played by Leslie Ann Warren.

The difference between my obsession and his is that I grew out of mine. Once I realized that I was never going to be traveling through space with a slightly feminine doctor, I gave up my fantasy. Anthony, on the other hand, would divorce me if he had a chance to play Prince Charming with Ms. Warren.

One summer, Leslie Ann Warren came to Detroit to film a made for tv movie. As most stars do, she stayed in one of the area’s best hotels, The Townsend, which conveniently is across the street from the salon. The Townsend is an upscale, European boutique hotel located in the heart of downtown Birmingham, Michigan. Although it has many amenities, it doesn’t have a health club, so they partner up with a local club so their guests can work out there. The club just happened to be the same one we belong to, so from time to time, we would see famous people on the treadmill.

The summer Ms. Warren stayed across the street, Anthony found himself on the lookout. Anytime a group of people gathered around the entrance of the hotel to see who was coming or going, he would peer out the window to try and get a view of her. There were sightings of her in local coffee houses and restaurants, but we never found ourselves sharing the same venue at the same time. One time, she even came into the salon, but we weren’t there, so close and yet so far.

Summer was reaching its end and L.A.W.’s movie was wrapping up, so it wasn’t looking good for our chance meeting. That is, until one day at our gym…

As we walked in the club, we made our usual trek from the check in desk to the locker rooms. Not realizing Anthony wasn’t behind me, I proceeded to pick out my locker and change into my workout clothes. After a few minutes, I began to wonder where he was. He was right behind me when we walked in, so it seemed kind of odd that he was missing. But, I soon found out why.

As I started to make my way out of the locker room, he came in and rushed directly to the sink. I saw blood and ran over to him. As he was padding his forehead with paper towel and water, I could see his forehead was cut. “What happened?” I asked as he desperately tried to make the bleeding stop. “Nothing”, he said. “Well, obviously something happened” I said, “you’re bleeding”.  Then he began to tell me what caused his unfortunate accident.

It seems that as we were both making our way through the gym, he spotted Leslie Ann Warren doing lunges with her trainer. Star struck, and trying not to be too obvious, he "nonchalantly" turned his head in her direction for just a second. But that’s all it took for him to confidently walk smack dab into a metal pull-up bar that was dangling right in front of his face. “And to make things worse”, he said, “Leslie Ann Warren saw the whole thing”. He said she immediately came over to see if he was O.K., and not knowing there was blood trickling all over his face, he tried to be cool and convince her that he was fine. “Oh, this happens all the time”, he told her as he tried not to cry. “Oh, honey, I think you need some help”, Cinderella said, followed by “you’re bleeding pretty badly”. By this time, a small crowd began to gather around, and I’m sure that’s true, “it’s not everyday that we get to see a movie star comforting a blood soaked stalker”, I said.  He ignored me and continued his harrowing tale by telling me the princess told him that he may need stitches and the gawkers were making it worse by chiming in things like “Yes, you need a doctor”, “How did you do that?” “That’s gonna leave a scar”. 

“All that in a matter of a couple of minutes, how did I miss that?” I asked as I started to chuckle. “It’s not funny”, said Anthony “Leslie Ann Warren thinks I’m a Klutz and now she has to sign my accident report”. Trying to lighten the situation, I said,  “Well, at least you’ll have her autograph”. The deafening silence that followed made me realize Anthony didn’t appreciate my attempt at lightening the situation. So, trying again, I said, “well, at least we don’t have to work out today”. This time there was a longer silence, so I gave up.

As we made our way to the manager’s office to pick up the accident report, we both sort of felt like rock stars. “That’s the guy who met Leslie Ann Warren”, murmured one of my fellow club members. “I saw her comforting him” mumbled another. In the end, no stitches were needed and there was no scar, but Anthony did become forever known as the "Man Who Cinderella saved".