Mr Wall Street
When you’re five, a year is a fifth of your life. At 50, a year is a mere 2 percent. So, time and speed are relative. You even age faster as you climb. Contemplating time draws me back to memories of our late friend Goose.
Goose… aka Monster, Tango, The Alligator, Mr Wall St, DeltaChi, Magician, Ocho, Jelly, Flipper, Witcher, Covenant, Amazing,
Sadly, I couldn’t tell you what half of these referred to, but I have heard marijuana impairs short-term memory and can impair short-term memory. That said, nicknames are expressions of a life well-lived.
The food at Le Bilboquet was so good it’d make Gandhi break a fast, but Goose had a strict rule against eating. Food was for closers or funerals. His philosophy was you’re just wasting time and money eating at a restaurant, and if a girl ordered food, it meant she wasn’t serious about banging. He’d end dates if someone ordered food unexpectedly.
Eventually, Goose found himself at Bilboquet every Tuesday for months because he dated an older chick who was a regular there.
The two of them are sitting one night and she keeps asking why Goose wouldn’t marry her. They’re arguing, plowing through glasses of pinot, and finally, he blurts, “What do you want me to say, that you’re too old?”
The whole age thing had been left unsaid, and silence is a relationship’s worst enemy. She’s already in a constant state of manufactured drama from hanging around idiots on a reality show.
So, she stands up and throws her wine all over his shirt, stomping out of the restaurant and screaming at everyone in her path.
Goose thinks, hell with it, I’m fucking staying. He orders from the menu for the first time, buys desserts for everyone, and leaves to a standing ovation from the patrons.
Then he called the hottest girl in his rolodex to meet him at the restaurant the following Tuesday. The maître d' greeted him with an umbrella on the way to their table, but he never ate anything there again.
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Mr Wall Street didn’t feature in Occupy a Job on Wall Street, but Goose does.
