Friday August 5, 2005 came in a hurry. Finishing my first week of finals for the summer trimester was draining. With three more finals left, a night on the town was in order to help keep things in perspective. I incidentally came into a pair of tickets for the Fashion Glamour Show and thought it to be the perfect occasion to catch up with my friend Courtney. The night’s events would consist of dinner, a fashion show and making it to Bellanotte where Courtney’s dating life would make its debus. Rumors are a dime a dozen in Minneapolis. One can never believe everything they hear and should take the time to seek out the truth about things to avoid being a blind believer. It was my intent for the evening.
Hours later, as I drove back to the Show (Bellanotte) to close out a tab and pick up my camera, a drunk guy ran out from a bus top shelter causing a chain reaction; an attempt to break, expletives flying out of my mouth, a drunk guy rolling across my hood, the same drunk guy hitting my windshield and rolling back unto the street as my jeep finally stopped. Yup. This was not the Master Card commercial I had bargained for earlier in the evening, but it was happening nonetheless.
“What the…,” is what I said putting my Jeep in park and dialing 911. As the guy got up, blood gushed out from his chin making his shirt look something like a starving artist might create with a gallon of red paint. He was going into shock and really drunk. As I questioned him, placing a gauze pad onto his chin, his friend and a host of other people stopped to witness the accident. Waving a penlight into “Patrick’s” eyes checking for pupil abnormalities, I engaged him in conversation and his ability to follow it. “Can you believe this…from somewhere in the clouds to this. No worries. I got it. I got it under control. It’s my job. It’s what I do. It’s why I get paid…to take charge of seemingly the impossible,” is what I thought. As the paramedics arrived and took over the scene, I began reflecting over the night’s events that necessitated my returning downtown.
In extreme situations, the potential for error goes up exponentially when one is too caught up in the event at hand. A detachment from the reality of the moment is necessary. This momentary lapse from the event gives one the ability to stay on task, not be distracted by emotions and prevents any attempts to answer the “why” question allowing one the abilty to perform. “Do the job and think about it later! Feel and understand what’s happening later. Feel and understand what’s happening later!” The detachment from reality works well in emergency situations buy not so much in relational ones where being in the moment can be the saving element in the relationship. Within a few moments, I killed the hazard lights on my jeep and proceeded to make it back to the Show (Bellanotte).
Bellanotte, where we spent the last part of the evening, is a high-class regional Italian restaurant that takes on a club atmosphere late nights. Celebrities, sports figures, the wealthy, the powerful, the beautiful and everyone in between makes the scene to contribute to its ambiance or have a small taste of the “good life.” The good life comes with a cost; one that many people understood and upheld with an Italian handshake normally lined with $20s, $50s and $100s to get past the front door and not wait. Being the lead doorman for the ‘show’ afforded me a certain number of benefits of which cash was the least important. Being able to shake hands and be on a first name basis with many of the city’s business owners, bankers, venture capitalist and millionaires is a priceless gift when it comes to business. The money one comes into is everybody’s and nobody’s at the same time. But, for the fleeting moments that it’s in your possession, use it to take care of others and occasionally pick up a thing or two for yourself. Ha ha ha.
Top fashion designers from around the world displayed their latest and greatest fashion designs down a multi-colored runway in the name of cancer research. The Marshal Field’s Glamourama Fashion Show is one of the premiere events hosted in Minneapolis. People go out of their way to attend—it’s exactly what we did. The B 52’s and The Pussy Cat Dolls provided the musical pace for the event making the evening more than amazing. The clothes were, as you might expect, fashion you may not opt to wear or afford. Either way, the models provided a certain kind of aesthetic entertainment that made the clothes work and time fly.
The limo ride, the fabulous dinner and the tickets were small tokens of appreciation from my regular patrons and a few of the business owners. My only responsibility was to pas out tips as a gesture of gratitude. All of it necessary to get one little girl to come out of her hiding place long enough and around the right people to get the job done. What was the job? It was merely to find out and show the number of other men they were not alone in their claim of Miss English. She’s like money—no one’s and everyone’s at the same time.
Molly, one of Courtney’s confidants came up to me the following night and asked, “Hey. Did you make it to the Glamourama show last night?” I replied, “You should know. You were on the phone with her last night during the event weren’t you?” Now wondering why she asked. “Courtney said you were working last night during the event and couldn’t go!” replied Molly. “Well, we did go, and it was the best time of my life. Especially the part when the rest of her men approached me to ask what the nature of our relationship was…friends at best. But, maybe not,” is how the conversations ended. There it is.
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