So I’m on a flight with my Pakistani-born wingman Mahmood, covering the usual: football, ex-wives, whether or not the President has business cards, when I ask him where we’ll be meeting our pal Fenster for drinks.
“Ollie’s,” he says.
“Great. I’ll call Fenster.”
“I gotta hit the bathroom,” he says, heading up the aisle.
I’ve already dialed when my mind suddenly goes blank as to where we would be meeting. I call out: “Hey, Mahmood! Where are we meeting again?”
He pivots briefly: “Ollie’s.” The whine of the aircraft prevents me from hearing. Nearing the front of the aircraft, he turns back, only to see me cupping my ear, having clearly not heard him. Never a patient man, anger overwhelms Mahmood’s face and he yells: “Ollie’s Ox Bar!!”
He was tazed into submission by an air marshal.
BILL
No comments:
Post a Comment