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Flamenco rodeo

Posted by on April 28, 2004

My cowboy boss was predictably fascinated by my Thursday experience with my professor of Beer Studies. He kept trying to get more details out of me. “So, how did he talk you into this, exactly? And he bought all your beer? How much did that cost him, do you think? And did he hit on you? Where was he sitting? How close, exactly?”

“Ew, pardner,” I said. “It was innocent. And in any case, I am NOT giving you tips on how to pick up girls in their twenties.”

“I don’t need tips,” he said, “I’ve got moves.” He danced the flamenco by himself for awhile while I edited some technical reports. “So when are you and me gonna go drinking?”

“I’m not drinking with you.”

“Don’t you want to meet John?” John is his alter-ego, the one who does bad things when drunk. I’m pretty sure that John is the reason why my cowboy boss no longer has a driver’s license or a live-in girlfriend.

“No thank you,” I said. “I’ve seen quite enough of John.” He sighed, shrugged, wrote down a haiku about birds, and returned to his office.

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