Greeting again from Port Harcourt, Nigeria. I’m used to cold this time of year, but it’s sure not cold here. I hope you enjoy this chapter. Thanks for reading
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I had my orders and packed the night before so I would be ready to fly to Washington DC early the next morning. I rolled over and looked at the clock and brought my eyes into focus. “Holy smoke, we slept in,” I hollered out to my wife as we jumped out of bed. We rushed around like crazy and made a mad rush to the airport. I always hate it when I have to run through an airport to catch a plane. I ran down the jet way and hopped into the plane, as the stewardess slammed the plane door shut. It was too close for comfort. Nevertheless, that’s how I started this trip to Washington DC to leave on my next work assignment to remodel a US embassy somewhere.
When we landed at Reagan National airport, I retrieved my luggage, hailed down a taxi and gave him the address for the hotel I stayed at in Springfield, Virginia. We pulled up to the hotel and the cab driver flipped the meter off.
“That will be $47.75 please.”
I thanked him for the pleasant ride. I opened my wallet and to my horror, there was no money. I had left my cash sitting on my chest-of-drawers at home! ”Do you take credit cards?”
He shook his head no, “I’m not set up for that yet, so cash only, please.”
My heart sank. “Wait here. I have to get some money from the hotel. I’ll be right back.”
I ran into the hotel and up to the counter. The clerk looked up. “Hello Mr. Benson. Welcome back, we’ve been expecting you.”
“I have a problem that I need help with.”
He looked at me, “Go on.”
“I left my money at home by mistake. Will you charge me for one extra day and give me the cash so I can pay for the taxi?”
“Oh sorry, we can’t do that, that’s against our policy.”
A voice behind me rang out, “Hey man, I need my money and I need it now! I got places to go.”
“Please,” I begged the hotel clerk but he wouldn’t budge.
“You better get me my money! If I don’t have it soon, you don’t have your bags and I leave! I’ll wait in the car,” the cabbie threatened.
I turned and saw Jack walking down the hall towards me. His shirt was open as always and his chest hairs stood out at attention. I rushed to his side, “Jack I need $48 bucks to pay the cab, I left my money at home by mistake. I’ll pay you back tomorrow once we get to the office and I get my advance.”
He thought about it for a minute, “Okay, but you owe me.”
“Anything, what is it?”
“Go out to dinner with me tonight. I need someone to talk to.”
In a previous chapter titled “Unlikely Companions,” I wrote about Jack having dinner with Barbara Bush, the former first lady of the United States. I had vowed to never eat with him, but due to the circumstances at hand, I took him up on his offer.
An hour later a knock came on my hotel door. I opened the door and heard Jack, “You ready?”
“I suppose so,” I gulped. “Where we heading?”
“I’ve got my eye on a little Korean place I heard about the last time I was in town.”
We walked roughly a half mile to a shopping area and Jack spotted the Korean restaurant.
“Welcome,” the hostess said as we entered the building. “Please follow me to your table.”
When I looked over the menu it didn’t take me long to decide, every entry I saw had a flame next to it, except for the fried rice. I’ve been told I’m a “wuss” by my family and work mates. When it comes to spicy, catsup is about as hot as I can take.
“This is on one order,” Jack barked at the waitress. “He’s a ‘pansy,’ all he wants is fried rice. Me, I want this soup,” he said as he pointed at the menu. “It better be hot, the spicier the better.”
“It hot,” the waitress stated with a strong accent.
“Well it better be. I don’t want nothing that ain’t hot.”
“I do my best to make it hot.”
“If it ain’t hot I’m giving it back to you and I ain’t paying. Do I make myself clear? Do you understand what I’m saying or do I need to talk slower?” Jack said in a loud, condescending tone.
I was embarrassed. I tried to console the waitress but I was almost as guilty, just by association. When the food came I thanked her, Jack on the other hand opened his mouth, “This better be hot. If it ain’t there’ll be %#^* to pay,” he barked out.
We talked of our new work assignments; mine was to Jakarta, Indonesia and Jack was off to Georgia in Eastern Europe.
“#!%#, that’s hot,” Jack volunteered.
“We’re not in any rush let it cool down a bit. My fried rice is great by the way.”
Once the soup cooled down, Jack picked up the bowl and took a few deep gulps and the soup disappeared (he never did have good table manners). Instead of the usual gruffness, out came a meek whisper. “It’s hot,” he whispered. Beads of sweat instantly pooled on his bald head and then formed little rivulets running down in all directions. The more he wiped the napkin across his brow and head, the more sweat appeared. Before long his open shirt was wringing wet, and the chest hairs that were spiked at attention were now wet and droopy.
“Soup hot enough for you?” the waitress asked with a satisfied sly smile.
Jack tried to talk but he was difficult to understand when he spoke in gasps. His words were just not discernible, however, I think I caught “hot” now and again. Jack grabbed his glass of water and poured it down.
The waitress smirked, “Water make more hot.”
“Jack, the water won’t help, it just intensifies the burning,” I volunteered.
But he drank on. It was a good thing his lips went numb because the blisters that soon appeared looked really sore. I could tell they were numb because his lips didn’t move when he tried to speak. I thought I caught a hint of smoke coming out of his mouth, but it’s possible I imagined that part.
Our walk back to the hotel was uneventful other than the fact that every few steps Jack would start to pant and then fan the air in front of his face. The blistered lips, the uncontrollable panting and the profuse sweating didn’t look like a fun way to eat a meal, and since I don’t like the idea of inflicting bodily damage on myself I was happy to be a fried rice guy.
I ran into Jack a few months later somewhere in Paris. “Hey Jack, you want to go have some nice Korean food tonight?” I taunted.
He glared at me, “I ain’t never going out to eat with you again, ever!”
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I hope you enjoyed this and never have to go out to eat with Jack! Please click on the star and write me a comment. Thanks for reading
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Memoirs of a Worker
Non-FictionI have had a very eventful life. The stories that I post are from real events that I have witnessed. Some of them are quite humorous, some may be totally outrageous and shocking, but all of them are true (Most of the time, real events are lots bette...
