We at the Butcher Shop have made a compact. We are NOT going to write about this silly-ass government shutdown . I mean, look at all the money we’re saving! Not to mention not getting groped at the airport for the duration. Now, with that having been said, happy Martin Luther King day! I mean, as a former Baptist, now an American, I celebrate this day above all others. Christmas is over-rated. King day is king!
There was a man. Came to us in Berry Creek, I think it was to buy investment property. As he signed contracts on our porch he gazed out at the Arnold Palmer golf course and told me, “I’ve always wanted to play this course, but I could never get a tee time.” I asked him when he’d like to play. He looked at me amazed, “Saturday.” No problem! I was a gold club member.
So, Saturday rolled around and he showed up with his entourage. I mean he was decked out. Dressed up in Scottish clad, complete with striped socks, he was ready to play golf! First, we went and bought Berry Creek balls, only the best. Coffee, of course, and then on to the links.
He was very impressed by the houses peppering the course, and joked about my expertise on the tenth green, which was where my house was situated. It was a lovely afternoon. You see, the Berry Creek course was shaded by many trees, and the brutal Texas heat abated somewhat. As we played, joggers and walkers passed by, and of course there was cold beer in the coolers at every green. Hollywood! Jackie even played caddie.
We wound up at the “nineteenth” hole, i.e. The club bar. Drinks were on me. As a gold member I had to spend a certain amount each month. If I didn’t get drunk enough, well, they just charged me anyway. So, I developed a right proper martini habit that Jackie assisted with. So, we settled down with martinis and prime rib.
We passed the afternoon talking about this and that. He was interested in investment opportunities, and I was interested in him buying as many properties as possible. Of course I didn’t mention that Berry Creek was not actually a creek, but the Balconies fault line that rocked and rolled with amazing regularity. At one point I approached the bar for more drinks. As the bartender shook the martinis he inquired as to exactly who my guest was. You see, my friend was black. And we were in a decidedly “cracker” environment.
“Oh, him?” I said. “Yeah, that’s the deputy commander of Fort Hood. I think he’s a general. And, by the way, I have a bad leg and I’d appreciate if you’d make sure that our glasses don’t run dry. I’m tired of carting drinks. And a smile would be nice. You might wanna have one of them towels over your arm while you serve.” We never did quite fit into into Berry Creek. I don’t know why. Yeah, I really like Martin Luther King day. Cheers!
The Butcher Shop