Hey! Mr. Big Shot! (Part 1)
Part 1 of 3
One of the things you have to guard against when traveling around with someone like a Major Presidential Candidate is that you don’t start thinking you ARE the Major Presidential Candidate.
Long time readers will remember the story from the 2004 Inaugural when, at the largest of the three kick-off “Candlelight Dinners” (for which I had been responsible for ticketing and seating), I had posted myself at the Will-Call table at the Washington Hilton.
Sure enough, one of the young volunteers came up to say there was a problem with a guest’s tickets. I walked to where the guest was standing and saw a guy with bad hair, orange sunglasses and a perfectly maintained 2.37-day growth of beard.
I asked how I could help and he informed me he was with the Kelsey Grammer party and there were only two tickets in the envelope, not the five he (this guy, not Grammer) had been expecting.
I knew where Kelsey Grammer was sitting because I had seated him and his wife with the donor – the big donor – who had requested him. I also knew there were not three empty seats at that table.
But, having done this once or twice before, I had tickets for additional seats at a nearby table in my pockets and told the guy this. He said, pushing his orange sunglasses up higher on his nose: “Well, we’ll just get on the plane and go back to Hollywood.”
To which I replied: “Ok. Have a good flight” and started walking away.
Ahmadinejad-cheeks came, literally, running down the length of the tables saying, “Wait! Wait a minute! What’s wrong?”
I stopped and said, “I made an offer – seats at a nearby table; and you made and offer – going back to Hollywood. I’m accepting your offer.” And turned away again.
Naturally, he and his pals accepted the tickets at the nearby table and, after several Cosmopolitan Smoothies (or whatever) with their dinners decided this was the funniest thing they had ever heard and found me afterward to tell me.
“Welcome to MY town,” I said.
Dear Mr. Mullings:
As interesting as this cautionary tale might be – again – what does it have to do with your trip to the NFRW convention?
Signed,
The Ladies of the NFRW
Ok, so traveling around with Thompson (and the same goes for Giuliani, Obama, Clinton, or Romney) you zip around on private (but small) airplanes which take you from point A to point B (without a stop in Cincinnati or Chicago or Dallas or where ever) and you are met by earnest young men and women volunteers who take the bags off the plane and put them into the back of the appropriate SUV in which you are whisked to the next stop.
At the next stop there are other earnest young volunteers who direct you to where you are supposed to go and metaphorically place rose petals in your path to ease your way.
Then … you have to break off and go to Palm Springs for the NFRW convention and the Yiddish proverb which translates to “Man plans, God laughs” kicks in.
My day had started at about 4:15 Eastern when I awoke needing to pack, walk Titus the Granddog, stop at the office to pick something up I had forgotten the night before, and get out to Dulles (which is about 45 minutes on a direct route) by about 6:45.
All went well. We flew to the Central time zone to do a series of fundraisers and press events in Central Tennessee and, at about 4 PM Central, I got a ride to Nashville airport for the BNA – LAX; LAX – PSP trip.
I was already a little cranky because my life is divided, generally, into two parts: Writing days and non-writing days. In addition to everything else Thursday is a writing day and I didn’t see exactly when I was going to get the column done.
As it happened I had enough time at the American Airlines Admiral’s Club to find the story about David Shuster sandbagging Rep. Marsha Blackburn so I made electronic notes and wrote on the four-hour flight from Nashville to Los Angeles.
One of the things you have to guard against when traveling around with someone like a Major Presidential Candidate is that you don’t start thinking you ARE the Major Presidential Candidate.
Long time readers will remember the story from the 2004 Inaugural when, at the largest of the three kick-off “Candlelight Dinners” (for which I had been responsible for ticketing and seating), I had posted myself at the Will-Call table at the Washington Hilton.
Sure enough, one of the young volunteers came up to say there was a problem with a guest’s tickets. I walked to where the guest was standing and saw a guy with bad hair, orange sunglasses and a perfectly maintained 2.37-day growth of beard.
I asked how I could help and he informed me he was with the Kelsey Grammer party and there were only two tickets in the envelope, not the five he (this guy, not Grammer) had been expecting.
I knew where Kelsey Grammer was sitting because I had seated him and his wife with the donor – the big donor – who had requested him. I also knew there were not three empty seats at that table.
But, having done this once or twice before, I had tickets for additional seats at a nearby table in my pockets and told the guy this. He said, pushing his orange sunglasses up higher on his nose: “Well, we’ll just get on the plane and go back to Hollywood.”
To which I replied: “Ok. Have a good flight” and started walking away.
Ahmadinejad-cheeks came, literally, running down the length of the tables saying, “Wait! Wait a minute! What’s wrong?”
I stopped and said, “I made an offer – seats at a nearby table; and you made and offer – going back to Hollywood. I’m accepting your offer.” And turned away again.
Naturally, he and his pals accepted the tickets at the nearby table and, after several Cosmopolitan Smoothies (or whatever) with their dinners decided this was the funniest thing they had ever heard and found me afterward to tell me.
“Welcome to MY town,” I said.
Dear Mr. Mullings:
As interesting as this cautionary tale might be – again – what does it have to do with your trip to the NFRW convention?
Signed,
The Ladies of the NFRW
Ok, so traveling around with Thompson (and the same goes for Giuliani, Obama, Clinton, or Romney) you zip around on private (but small) airplanes which take you from point A to point B (without a stop in Cincinnati or Chicago or Dallas or where ever) and you are met by earnest young men and women volunteers who take the bags off the plane and put them into the back of the appropriate SUV in which you are whisked to the next stop.
At the next stop there are other earnest young volunteers who direct you to where you are supposed to go and metaphorically place rose petals in your path to ease your way.
Then … you have to break off and go to Palm Springs for the NFRW convention and the Yiddish proverb which translates to “Man plans, God laughs” kicks in.
My day had started at about 4:15 Eastern when I awoke needing to pack, walk Titus the Granddog, stop at the office to pick something up I had forgotten the night before, and get out to Dulles (which is about 45 minutes on a direct route) by about 6:45.
All went well. We flew to the Central time zone to do a series of fundraisers and press events in Central Tennessee and, at about 4 PM Central, I got a ride to Nashville airport for the BNA – LAX; LAX – PSP trip.
I was already a little cranky because my life is divided, generally, into two parts: Writing days and non-writing days. In addition to everything else Thursday is a writing day and I didn’t see exactly when I was going to get the column done.
As it happened I had enough time at the American Airlines Admiral’s Club to find the story about David Shuster sandbagging Rep. Marsha Blackburn so I made electronic notes and wrote on the four-hour flight from Nashville to Los Angeles.
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