Since I’ll be at BABF this weekend, sure to be a story in itself — if not a saga — I decided to run this week’s entry early.
One “Cheesesteak” sold. (Also a “Not today” and a “Good luck” collected.)
As readers may recall, my health club is connected to a hotel. So I’m working out, dressed in not-walking-around garb of black shorts, black skull cap, and cut-down football jersey (“Who’s 27?” someone once asked me. “Me,” I said), and someone says “BIOB!”
“It’s Mike!” he says. “Friends’ Central!”
Now the accent is definite Philadelphia, and I can practically feel my brain flipping through every face it knew in high school, like they were on a deck of cards, adding 50 – 60 years, and… ZERO.
Finally he admits he’s pulling my leg. His words exactly. “Pulling your leg.” We had met the year before in the locker room when he’d he’d asked me a question. I’d recognized his accent and given him a “Cheesesteak.” Now he was back, visiting a daughter again and wanted to buy a copy for a friend.
The friend, Overbrook ’65, had been a straight “E” student, now works, if you can believe it, as a wedding singer.
Who says I don’t have wide marketing potential.