Yes, I really was a licensed California bartender. Here were a couple of lively gals. The one on the right was a customer, the center gal was another server. For obvious reasons, her nickname was “Cleopatra”. I usually wore a dress shirt and tie out west, for those who noticed. If you do that in Florida, you will be mistaken for a salesman. But, but, if I took this picture, who is the guy in the picture? Either my stunt double or a bystander?
[Author’s note: I encountered a lot of Canadians like this when I worked for the phone company, so I know how to bait them. They have a bothersome way of prying into your life by making out that you are being impolite, horrors, if you object. Yet, you cannot trust them. I’m reminded of the tale of the Englishman on the street who was asked what the two most important things in life were, and he replied they were love and Anglo-American relations. He was arrested. He had implied they were two separate things.]
She could not deal with the fact that I have no credit rating without a reason and a document saying why not. I asked her if she was Canadian and she said yes, then paused, then, I think, went into a fit. She began threatening that I had better not hang up. I hung up. I wonder if she survived.]
[Author’s note: one must be careful about information collecting in Florida. There is no law that prevents a telemarketing firm from falsely advertising a job or an apartment, then using the contact to pump you for information. Of course, I immediately balked when I first encountered such things here, but a lot of the locals are too stupid to even become careful. Things have changed considerably, but that was in 2003. It seems they don’t get suspicious until a stranger walks up to the schoolyard and talks to their grandchildren by name.]
