A Halloween Story

So it was the 4th Annual Masquerade Ball (at least that’s what the commemorative sport bottle says) and I was a young politician on the make, sucking up to locals in the entourage of the second best attorney I know (his only flaw is he thinks he’s perfect) along with 2 other people who preceded me as capo di tutti.

I had dressed with my usual imaginative style in the battle tux I’d inherited from a dead former Master of my Lodge (you do know I’m a member of the Illuminati, don’t you?).

With me it’s all about the shtick and on this occasion I’d prepared several copies of a Gothic Black “Contract” with Lorem Ipsum as the body and my Montblanc knockoff was filled with red ink.  I’d chat with people and when they mentioned my lack of costume I’d object that I was entirely in the spirit of the event and not at all in my normal regalia.

But you know, that’s not really why I’m here tonight.

I’m here for you.

And then I’d pull out the contract and try and get their autograph.  I have no idea why this freaked them out but I didn’t collect a single one.

Now in my club we’ve been known to unwind every once in a while as many hotels will attest and although my boss, capo di tutti at the time, drank very little and I contented myself with my commemorative sport bottle of champagne (with intermittent refills) our two companions were slightly more… enthusiastic.

With one it was only to be expected.  He’s the only person I’ve ever had the misfortune to be thrown out of an airport bar with while the flight was still delayed.  I’ve never quite forgiven him for that.

The other one usually stuck to a few Bud Lights, but he had a credit card and was flirting with the bar tender who made a mean Sea Breeze.

As all good things do it came to an end and my Sea Breeze friend was trying to extricate his father’s Cadillac from an up hill lie onto the Cart Path we had parked off of, but was constantly thwarted by the inexplicable trailer hitch on the back which dug into the asphalt because of the angle.

“Turn your wheels this way”, said my airport companion in tones that led me and my boss to seek a strategic distance from the scene of hilarity in shadows of plausible deniability.

“I got this”, replied the driver as with a great scrape we later learned jammed 2 feet of Macadam up the hitch mounting he bounced onto the road (facing the wrong direction of course) and flipped the car around so it pointed at the exit.

My boss said, “I’m driving with you”, to which my reply was, “So how much of a head start do we give them?”