I had a snowball fight with some little kids outside of an apartment complex in D.C. today. I had been knockingon a woman’s door for a good twenty minutes as the snow fell down the back of my sweatshirt. I was cold, frustrated and turning to take my defeated walk back to the car when I saw a little kid preparing his ammunition inside a snow-filled barbeque.
It was that perfect packing snow.
I laughed to myself and threw a giant, expertly aimed snowball right over the shoulder of little man in the puffy black vest. When he heard the SMACK of tightly packed snow colliding against brick, he spun faster than Emmitt Smith during Dancing with the Stars.
His face was priceless. Fear and giddy excitement started in his eyes and progressed down from his brow to form a gleaming, tiny toothed smile. In one right handed motion he glove wiped his nose and was armed. The roar of a five-year-old entering into a snowball fight is like no other; now I was the one with fear in my eyes.
It was a great way to cap off a snowy day in the city.
A few days back, on another cold and windy day, I walked up the alley behind the office to a new baked potato restaurant called Potato Valley. You know the spot. Right over there on E street, a block over from the Verizon Center?
I was READY for lunch. I’d been cruising around the city playing investigator with food at the forefront of my mind. $6.50 for a potato seemed a little steep but reviews at the office were high and I was hungry. I ordered turkey and cheddar with sour cream. As I watched the orders pass by me the anticipation in my stomach kicked up its cries a few decibels. I mean these things were gargantuan beauties of spud superiority. A pretty lady took my order, smiled, and we exchanged greetings.
After my order, the smilefest came to an end. It was transaction time but in its place was a truly awkward pause. I had set my card on the table in front of me but she hadn’t picked it up. It just sat there, on the counter, squarely between us. The world would be playing freeze tag until one of us touched it.
I picked up my card and asked “Can I pay with my debit?” She flatly responded, “No you cannot,” as she reached out to take the card of the person waiting to pay directly behind me in line.
This was just not right. Why would she be so friendly, then so rude. I gathered myself, stepped up to the counter and said, “Why could that guy pay with his card and not me?” Instead of answering she said, “not today” as the other woman behind the counter handed me my hot potato.
I walked out, pleasantly confused, making a silent vow to bring friends and a flower next time I want a potato.
Saturday is the TWC talent show. Showtime in the Meridian at Braddock Station Penthouse. I’m not sure if Jack Nicholson or Don King is on the guest list but the stars will be out.
I’ll let you know how it goes,IW
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