Post by Hope Diamond on May 2, 2017 14:21:26 GMT -6
My Interco flight to Boston will take off in two hours so I nurse my jet lag with a cup of coffee and watch the people around. Trust me, watching complete strangers milling around you is better than any soap opera.
You think being a wrestler is a shitty life between back pain and lousy pay? Well it is but it is also a springboard to something bigger. Just look at the alternative.
There is that guy with the suit and the cowboy hat chatting up to the waitress. His smile´s so big and obtrusive he´s either soft in the brain or a salesman. Judging by the spanking new golf equipment beside his barstool I say salesman. He just bought the stuff in the store across. I bet there are one-armed men around with a better handicap than him. So I guess he heard his boss or an important customer is into golf and now he´s trying to suck up to that important someone somewhere around hole nine. Now I got people to impress too but I can do it practicing a real sport and I don´t look so pathetic doing it.
Then there is this young couple with their three children. Their three very loud and temperamental children to be precise. Surely the little brats will become rock singers one day and end up dead in a toilet. Since I can´t kill them right now I give their daddy my best come hither looks until he blushes and his wife catches on. They are all on their way like three seconds later. Outside his lady read him the riot act and I finally know whom the kids got their vocal cords from.
Two members of the Airport police finish their shift talking about the dude whose head they had t drag out of the toilet lately. Bon appetit gentlemen. That´s not my kind of life either. I would have only pushed that dudes head deeper into the porcelain throne while taking his wallet and wristwatch. Besides I look horrible in uniforms and abiding the law all the time is not my cup of tea either.
Speaking of cups…
“Hey miss…”
I wave my almost empty coffee cup in the direction of the waitress. She comes over and I almost shake my head watching her. Her walk is more of a lurch. If she had any business acumen she would bring a mug along for a refill or wipe that frown of her face for a moment.
I hold up my cup.
“Miss, I ordered my coffee black and double-sweet. That one is black alright but nothing like double-sweet.”
She shuffles her feet uncomfortably.
“Sorry.”
But sorry is not going to do it, hon.
“I´d like another cup and this time really double-sweet.”
Now this is brazen. I almost finished my Java Joe to figure out that it is not sweet enough.
But there is no comeback, no argument. I get my second cup of coffee, double-sweet and on the house. No doughnut, thank you.
You can bet the coffee was double-sweet the first time around. Why did my scam work? Am I better than the waitress or the salesman or the two cops? Depends on how you define better. If you take the moral high ground the answer is a resounding NO! But I´m not into ethics. I´m into Darwinism and according to Darwinism I got my second cup because I´m fitter for survival.
You see sometimes it happens that a wrestler goes into a match and is outclassed from the start. Maybe the booker screwed up. Often it´s a wrestler who grew too old for this business but doesn´t quit. He gets booked against some young hot shot who has no respect for age but wants to kick ass and take names. That hot shot could be me. It was me one time or another. Now there comes a point in the match where the outclassed wrestler just gives up. There´s no fight left in the oldster and all he wants is end the match. You can see that in his face and in his eyes. I saw that same expression in the eyes and face of the waitress. She had no fight left in her while I had plenty.
I don´t think she´ll stay in this job much longer.
That´s how you read your opponents. Sometimes you misread them and then you lose. Or you cheat.
When I pack up and leave the waitress watches me just out of the corner of her eye. I can tell she is fuming inside but that´s not going to help her. I´m the one with the free coffee and the real life.
Last thing I see through the window is how her shift manager walks up to her. He doesn´t look happy.
Now who can deny the fact that I´m tough luck?
You think being a wrestler is a shitty life between back pain and lousy pay? Well it is but it is also a springboard to something bigger. Just look at the alternative.
There is that guy with the suit and the cowboy hat chatting up to the waitress. His smile´s so big and obtrusive he´s either soft in the brain or a salesman. Judging by the spanking new golf equipment beside his barstool I say salesman. He just bought the stuff in the store across. I bet there are one-armed men around with a better handicap than him. So I guess he heard his boss or an important customer is into golf and now he´s trying to suck up to that important someone somewhere around hole nine. Now I got people to impress too but I can do it practicing a real sport and I don´t look so pathetic doing it.
Then there is this young couple with their three children. Their three very loud and temperamental children to be precise. Surely the little brats will become rock singers one day and end up dead in a toilet. Since I can´t kill them right now I give their daddy my best come hither looks until he blushes and his wife catches on. They are all on their way like three seconds later. Outside his lady read him the riot act and I finally know whom the kids got their vocal cords from.
Two members of the Airport police finish their shift talking about the dude whose head they had t drag out of the toilet lately. Bon appetit gentlemen. That´s not my kind of life either. I would have only pushed that dudes head deeper into the porcelain throne while taking his wallet and wristwatch. Besides I look horrible in uniforms and abiding the law all the time is not my cup of tea either.
Speaking of cups…
“Hey miss…”
I wave my almost empty coffee cup in the direction of the waitress. She comes over and I almost shake my head watching her. Her walk is more of a lurch. If she had any business acumen she would bring a mug along for a refill or wipe that frown of her face for a moment.
I hold up my cup.
“Miss, I ordered my coffee black and double-sweet. That one is black alright but nothing like double-sweet.”
She shuffles her feet uncomfortably.
“Sorry.”
But sorry is not going to do it, hon.
“I´d like another cup and this time really double-sweet.”
Now this is brazen. I almost finished my Java Joe to figure out that it is not sweet enough.
But there is no comeback, no argument. I get my second cup of coffee, double-sweet and on the house. No doughnut, thank you.
You can bet the coffee was double-sweet the first time around. Why did my scam work? Am I better than the waitress or the salesman or the two cops? Depends on how you define better. If you take the moral high ground the answer is a resounding NO! But I´m not into ethics. I´m into Darwinism and according to Darwinism I got my second cup because I´m fitter for survival.
You see sometimes it happens that a wrestler goes into a match and is outclassed from the start. Maybe the booker screwed up. Often it´s a wrestler who grew too old for this business but doesn´t quit. He gets booked against some young hot shot who has no respect for age but wants to kick ass and take names. That hot shot could be me. It was me one time or another. Now there comes a point in the match where the outclassed wrestler just gives up. There´s no fight left in the oldster and all he wants is end the match. You can see that in his face and in his eyes. I saw that same expression in the eyes and face of the waitress. She had no fight left in her while I had plenty.
I don´t think she´ll stay in this job much longer.
That´s how you read your opponents. Sometimes you misread them and then you lose. Or you cheat.
When I pack up and leave the waitress watches me just out of the corner of her eye. I can tell she is fuming inside but that´s not going to help her. I´m the one with the free coffee and the real life.
Last thing I see through the window is how her shift manager walks up to her. He doesn´t look happy.
Now who can deny the fact that I´m tough luck?