Ireland Story #2: The Longest Elevator Ride of my Life

The longest elevator ride of my life:

So I'm in the hotel, yes the Europa, the most bombed building in the history of Ireland’s violent past. It is time to head down to floor number 1 for our group's dinner. My cousin Michelle's room happens to be on my floor (10th floor) tonight so we meet in the hall. As we walk up to the elevator I notice a man is already waiting. There is something that catches my attention about him. He seems familiar to me. He reminds me of an actor. I have little to go on because he has a sock cap on that covers his hair, forehead and ears. He is wearing stylish glasses that further hide his face and his head is down, focused on texting with a blackberry. So all I see is a side view of his partially blocked facial features. Still there is something about him, but I have 3 problems at the moment. First, I can't remember the name of the actor I think this might be. Second, I have precious little time to determine if it is indeed him and then what to do about it. And third, my sweet, but unaware cousin is jabbering away at me, clueless about what is going on in my head.

I have been staring at his face long enough. Now I scan him up and down looking for clues of stardom. He is carrying a much worn, tan leather briefcase that I can tell was pricey when originally purchased. He is wearing stylish, black jeans and the coolest black boots I have ever seen on a man. He is also carrying a hanger with a black dress shirt. And finally, he just has an aire of prominence about him. That feeling of presence someone has when they have big money or power. I continue to study him as the 3 of us wait for the elevator. I wonder if he is sensing my stare? I don't really care, but likely the answer is yes he does. Is the texting real or is it to keep us from talking to him? Let me say that I have spent countless nights in hotels over my career and ridden the elevator with hundreds of strangers and I have said a polite hi to the vast majority of them. This one feels different. I continue to work this out in my brain as fast as I can. The clock is ticking "He is too tall and too old to be the actor I am thinking of" I reason. But the movie I saw him in was released 15 years ago, I am guessing so looking older makes sense. Plus the camera removes 10 inches right, or does it add 10 pounds. Ugh! I just can't think right now! Plus Michelle just asked me if I called my mom. Oh my god, did she really just ask me that while I am standing next to this movie star? I don't break my fixation on this stranger as I reply a terse, "yes".

I add up the evidence and come to an initial conclusion that this is just some well to do Irish lad. After all would a movie star carry a shirt on a hanger? But those could definitely be movie star boots. The elevator door opens. We all enter and I push floor one which is where our dinner room is. He pushes nothing. I politely tell him he will need to push G if he wants to go to the Lobby floor. It must have been my confident, but calm tone that commanded his obedience. But he pushes the button without saying a word or even a glance or nod of thanks. Michelle is still jabbering at me and I have no clue about what. I am still staring and studying my subject. He is still texting. Time is almost gone. I must do something, but I still cannot think of his name. I have the movie....Shawshank Redemption, but what is his damn name? I must say something to him to find out for sure if it is indeed him, but what? What can I say when I don't even know his freak'n name!?!  I don’t know exactly why, but I am now 80% sure it is NOT him. However, I must say something just in case.  Since I still don't know his name my words must be so brilliant that my ignorance of his name will go unnoticed. Think.....think! Ok, I have it. Yes, this is it, oh yes, I have the brilliant statement I have been looking for. Oh, finally I have something to say that is so clever that he will know that I know who he is, but he won't realize I am ignorant of his name. YES! Ok, now for the delivery. I must do it now, the elevator is rushing down. He is still texting, Michelle is still talking, although now I think she might be speaking in Japanese, but not sure about that, I am still staring. The time is now or the opportunity is lost. Ok, here goes. My incredibly astute statement is about to prove my brilliance.

"You know.....(pause for affect).....you look a lot like a famous American actor."

There it is. Oh yes, brilliant!! I smile, being fully satisfied with my genius. And the delivery? The perfect combination of fortitude and calmness. The tone was exactly what I wanted. Perfect! Now for his response. I realize that I will now have my answer as I enjoy my sheer genius still resonating off of the elevator walls. Is this him or not? He does indeed respond. He grins slightly, but he doesn't look at me, not even a glance, his face still buried in the blackberry, fingers still typing away and then comes his official response to my cunning statement.........a grunt. Yes, my friend that is what I said, a grunt. A friendly grunt, but a grunt none the less. Almost a half chuckle, but it certainly wouldn't qualify as a real chuckle. No, it is well within the category of a grunt. Michelle stops talking. Now we both are staring at this stranger still texting. Silence. I have no snappy comeback to the grunt. I used up every ounce of my genius with the American actor statement. I simply wasn't prepared for the response of.....a grunt. What does a person say to a grunt? Still silence. My genius is no longer resonating off of the elevator walls. It has been replaced. First with a grunt and now with awkward silence. The elevator doors open. And like well trained robots Michelle and I exit as if nothing has transpired here. I stop and turn to watch the elevator doors close with the grunter still inside. I look for some final response or clue or some revelation from above that will tell me if this is him or not. He still refuses to look up as the doors shut. Well, what can I do now? I turn and start walking toward the dinner tables to join the rest of our group of 45. The question I have been trying to answer for the last 2 minutes is still nagging me. Unanswered. But, fortunately I will soon have at my fingertips the perfect comfort.....free food. All is well.

I sit with several other new friends from our group and I tell my elevator story. The whole story is of course a revelation to Michelle until we get to the part where I reveal my superior intellect with my American actor statement. Which, as I say it out loud now to the group, it suddenly begins to sound shockingly un-brilliant. Hmmm, quite the opposite of brilliant, actually. The words lame and dufus come to mind. But, I continue the story and as I mention the name of the movie, Shawshank Redemption, someone says, "Tim Robbins!" Ok, where the hell were you 5 minutes ago? My self perceived brilliance is plummeting at an alarming rate. If I had any brains at all and could do 4th grade math maybe I could calculate the rate of it's decent. Well, my story leaves the entire table wondering if it was indeed Tim Russert, I mean Tony Robbins, no I mean Tim Robbins. Whatever the hell his name is, I really don't care anymore. To me he is just "the grunter". That is until someone mentions this to the waiter and he informs us that Tim is playing with his band at a club down the street tonight and he saw him the day before. Well, I guess it really was him. Hmmm...I wonder if our waiter got a grunt. I got a grunt from a movie star. Can he say that? Plus, as I eat my free food I am further comforted with the knowledge that Tim Robbins knows I love my mommy enough to call her. But, little do I realize that I have not seen the last of the Grunter. Welcome to the Europa Hotel, Belfast, United Kingdom.

My Most Embarrassing Moment

My most embarrassing moment; no it didn’t happen last year or even in the last few years.  A hard core most embarrassing moment can and should last a lifetime.  Mine goes all the way back to high school and Mrs. Knepp.  Ohhh….Mrs. Knepp, my English teacher; brains, beauty, sweetness, she had it all and I wanted it all.  Boy did she know how to wear a pair of polyester slacks.  But I digress.  First I have to tell you about my good buddy Randall.  We were juniors and hung out a lot, but even with that I never shared personal stuff so Randall had no clue about my crush on our teacher.  Nor did he know the day had arrived for me to make my big move on her.  Of course I had already been wooing her with special glances and charming smiles, but now it was time for me to let her know I was a man and I was serious.  It was time…..for a wink.  Yes, that’s right.  I would do it right in the middle of class while she is lecturing.  Gutsy I know, but that’s how we men do it. 

My plan for a wink was perfect.  The school gods had smiled upon me because...

The Egg

This poem is proof that I write what entertains me without worrying if others will like it.  I don't expect ANYONE to be entertained by this poem, but it was fun to write.  If you get a kick out of it then let me know.  I have a psychiatrist that I can recommend.  He has done wonders for both my personalities.


The Egg
I sincerely hope I am not the first
Not the only one in the universe

To declare their love and gratitude
If it is so I find it terribly rude

For who has given more and taken less
Go right ahead and take a guess

How can I keep my love silent any longer
To do so would make me a fan of needless hunger

Is there no limit to her many faces
Her variety of offerings is impressive

A pot, a pan, or even a wisked mixture
Or mixed with salad to add taste and texture

A rhyming doctor has long ago seen
They are so yummy even when green

Alexander the Great conquered and plundered
His success a sure sign he ate plenty of these when hungered

Despite her beauty she is not a diva
Sharing her plate with bacon or even pita

A Missed Irritation

Does anyone else miss something that irritated you as a kid; something that once was a serious annoyance, but now is pleasant nostalgia and you actually wish for the irritation to come back?  Well, for me it is the broken shoelace.  Do you remember?  Think about it.  I was tying my key into my shoelaces yesterday before a run and I realized that the shoelaces in my 5 year old shoes would never, ever, ever, never, ever, ever, in forever and a day, break!  And it bummed me out a little.  Do you remember, as a kid, being forced to fix a failed shoelace by tying the two pieces together?  And that was if it was the first break.  If it was the 2^nd or 3^rd, then you were stuck with a lace half the necessary length so you could only run it through the lower eyelets.

For me it seemed to always happen during a major crisis.  Maybe the Germans or Indians (depending on what movie I had just watched) were attacking and I was desperately trying to save the weak and helpless from the onslaught.  No gun slinging cowboy or triple Medal of Honor winner in the midst of saving the day should have to stop to fix a shoelace!  Especially one that was promoted to General, but turned it down so he could stay on the front line fighting with his men.  Or perhaps when my professional baseball teammates, the St. Louis Cardinals, desperately needed me to turn a single into a home run to win the World Series and they would then gleefully carry me off the field….again.  But the worst was if I needed a quick get away from the reach of my older brother who always seemed to be irritated with me for some reason, but luckily for me he was also lazy so all I usually needed to do was be Speedy Gonzales for a short distance and I would be safe again.

No, for me and my dangerous and heroic childhood the broken shoelace was a hated nemesis.  Surely it was a product of the fall along with thorns and thistles and hard labor.  Damn it, Adam and Eve!  I’m sure it says something about that in the bible somewhere.  But now I miss that tired old shoelace that couldn’t handle my rough and tumble lifestyle.  Maybe I will start a company that sells laces with a written guarantee that they will break in less than 6 months or your money back.  I’m sure that would help me make my 2^nd million (I gave up on making the 1^st million).  Nike, Reebok are you listening?  I could have a rolling cart on the corner selling the sacred items.  I could do demonstrations to prove their unique ability to break.  Okay, maybe my plans should be a little less grand.  I will settle instead for sabotaging both of my daughters shoes with small cuts in the laces.  Yes, all of their shoes.  They will hate me at first, but will thank me when they are my age.