...walks in and orders a Kobe beef burger and a rusty nail.
A big part of my job involves talking to people. Which is great here, because generally, in New Orleans, I enjoy talking to people. Generally, in San Francisco, I didn't enjoy talking to people so much. Generally, in San Francisco, I wanted to smack the fuck out of people after talking to them for even a short length of time. I generally enjoyed working the service bar out there.
But down here in the Big Sleazy, talking to people is generally a pleasure, and I really enjoy working the front bar and socializing with the people. Tourists like talking about New Orleans, as do locals, and I LOVE talking about New Orleans. It works out well for everyone. So when homeboy came in, I ducked in the corner, finished the last two bites of my sandwich, and came over to make conversation.
It started off in the normal way. Whereya from, whadaya do, yadda yadda yadda. Turns out his name was Matt and he lived in Albuquerque. In town for business. Delightful man. While digging into each other's personal lives, we discovered that we both had lived on Long Island. While reminiscing about his time on the East Coast, he mentioned that he had worked at the beach at Robert Moses State Park. This is where things get interesting.
"No shit," says I. "My father worked there years ago. Maybe you know him. They used to call him King Rat."
Matt: "You're shitting me."
Me: "No I'm not!"
Matt: "Rat was my boss!"
Me: "You're shitting me."
Matt: "No I'm not!"
Turns out they were good friends. Hadn't seen each other since 1973 or something like that. So of course I text King Rat. We get him on the phone, the two of them get to catch up on the past thirty-something years. Matt was headed to NY in July anyway. Now he has another reason to go.
Love when life throws shit like that at you. The odds? I would call it about 3,987,645 to 1.