When you make a promise, it's important to keep it as best you can. I consider myself a man of my word. I've mentioned before how important integrity is to me. So I'm going to give you two examples.
One of the biggest rules about dining out is that you don't hit on the servers. You may have read about the Cris Zim adventures. They guy who I based that on constantly hit on servers (and, from what I've been told, strippers). When I was a young man (back when cavemen were still fighting wooly mammoths with spears) I promised myself I would not make a server's life worse by hitting on her.
And then came the time that a bunch of coworkers and I were playing truth or dare at a bar. You can't always choose truth. That's bullshit. So I took the dare from a guy who thought I was spineless. He dared me to ask our waitress for her number. It went against all of my principles, but I had to do it. He grinned like a fucking lunatic because he thought I lacked the social grace to ask someone out. So she came to our table. She handed out our drinks. And then I said, as politely as I could, "Hey, can I have your number?"
Of course she said no. And I accepted that with as much grace as possible, and I tried to make her feel as safe as possible. And that motherfucker had to eat some crow, which made me happy. He admitted that he thought I had no guts, but I'd proved him wrong. This guy? Getting him to admit that he was wrong was like pulling a tooth. From a lion's mouth. When it's wide awake and hungry. AND I GOT HIM TO SAY IT IN FRONT OF WITNESSES.
Fast forward a few years. My word was under doubt. I bet a guy that I worked with at my previous job, and I won't say what because he also worked at the job before that job with me, and that narrows it down a lot. Suffice it to say, I lost this bet. He won with flying colors, and I thought it was because he had inside knowledge.
So it was his last day at the job I worked. It was nearing his quitting time, and I'd been giving him, more or less, the silent treatment because I thought he'd cheated. So as his shift came to a close he came by my desk. "Bruni," he said, "I'm shocked. I never thought you'd shirk a bet."
I didn't. I had his prize in my locker. We'd bet a bottle of Jack Daniel's on this. I despise Jack Daniel's because they lowered their proof from 86 to 80 quietly, and when they got called on it, they said, "Fuck you guys. What do you know about whiskey?"
Fuck you. We're your customers. I swore to never buy a bottle of JD ever again. But I felt so firmly in my belief that I was willing to bet on it.
And I lost. Even when I bought that bottle, my usual booze merchant said, "Are you sure about this?" I said, yeah, I lost a bet.
So when my coworker/friend accused me of shirking my bet, I got a little angry. But I played it cool, I think. I turned to my locker drawer and unlocked it. I took the fifth out, and I held it out to him. For a moment. Then I dragged it back. "I shouldn't give this to you," I said. "I think you lied or cheated or had previous knowledge." Which I am certain of, to this day. But I lost. So . . . "But here." I gave him the bottle of Jack Daniel's.
I have to give him credit. He never rubbed my face in it. He very well could have, but he didn't. And he shared. By the time he left the office, we'd all had more than our share.
Don't even bring up Crank 2: High Voltage with me. That's another bet I lost. To be fair, it didn't hurt as much, at least when I saw that Lloyd Kaufman was involved.
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