“Gotta grab a beer, just a quick one, then it’s off to the Slippery Noodle blues bar.” I shuffle on painfully blistered feet down Louisiana street, towards the RCA dome. Passing by huge brick building that houses a bar, there are great sounds of merriment coming from inside. “Those people are in too good of a mood for me, just yet.” So I opt for an outdoor cafe across the street, where there is just one well dressed couple sitting down for dinner. It is attached to a fairly swanky hotel. I ask a little Mexican bus-boy how much it is for a beer in this joint and he replies, “Um, Ah, Two peepty I teenk.”
“Really! Great! Give me a Bud then, might as well support my team somehow.” (Team Williams’ main sponsor is Budweiser). The bus boy goes for my beer as the male patron asks me, “Earnhardt fan right?”
“No, Williams.” I sit down, and grab a handful of complimentary mixed nuts.
“Oh yeah, dem gloried go-carts… I’m a real race fan! Jimmy Johnson is mah boy!!” He exclaims, showing off for his lady friend in his southern accent; clearly drunk.
“Oh, hey, yeah, good for you.” I reply, extremely halfheartedly, and then under my breath and inaudibly follow it up with “stupid hillbilly.” Then he comes over to my table and starts rambling on about NASCAR. But I am having none of it, and nip it in the bud with, “Hey bro, do you suppose you could take my photo, I don’t usually get a chance to have a beer in a nice place like this.”
“Why shore thang.” He replies, and grabs my camera and takes the shot as I flip him off.
“Hey no offense eh, just for effect you know.” He goes back to his table and sits down, and I’m once again lost in my thoughts. “Geez what if he was looking forward to meeting me, and now I won’t be there? Naw, he will probably be relieved. He is no doubt regretting having promised me that meet-and-greet anyway.” (Jimmie Johnson won the NASCAR championship that year, whoopee)
I pop some mixed nuts in my mouth, and raise the Bud to take a drink. The cold beer tastes sweet as it mixes with the nuts. Out of the corner of my right eye, I catch a sight that in my current state seems impossible, of Sir Frank, moving at lightning speed, maybe fifty feet away, headed for the hotel lobby! I just about do a spit take, and lose the beer nut mixture on the sidewalk.
“Hey buddy”, I ask the hillbilly, unaware of the greatness that just passed behind his back, “can you watch my camera for a second, I’ll be right back.” Grabbing the slip of paper out of my pocket with Franks mobile number on it, I run for the hotel doors.
“No problemo amigo!” He shouts back, as I make a bee-line for the lobby. My heart is racing now as I look through the glass doors. “Oh no, they’re almost at the elevator, if I don’t get there I’ll have lost them forever!” It didn’t even register in my brain that I would only have to go to the counter, and call his room. Reaching the two men I am completely out of breath, and blurt out “Sir Frank, puff, I couldn’t call your number, huff.” I hold out the paper with the number on it and he looks at it. “Tried and tried puff, but I just couldn’t do it, huff, couldn’t even call collect either, sorry, Hi… I’m Donald, puff.”
