Had I ever heard of the band Rootmonger he asked? He told me he was the
one who discovered them in a church basement in Arlington, Texas. BFD,
I thought, but I acted interested. Think tip!
Then he told me about his summer house in the Hamptons, his brand new
BMW, his ski trips on the label's jet, his expense account. Was this
supposed to impress me? What kind of a person talks like this with no
sense of shame? I figured any moment now the subject would get
anatomical.
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Anyway, about $42 in beer later (that's a 6-pack) he put a $100 down and
asked me for my number. I laughed and said I didn't have a phone. But
he got insistent. He said he had a hunch about me as soon as he saw I
was wearing blue vinyl pants and his hunches were never wrong! I told
him I saw unsold piles of Rootmonger CDs discounted at Tower for $7.99
-- what happened to his big hunch there?
 Then he grabbed my arm. OK, I'll take some shit from a guy, especially
for a $58 tip. But I draw the line when it comes to physical force. I
tried to pull away but he just held on. "I'll let go of you when you
give me your number!" he said with a greasy smile, as if this was
supposed to be funny.
Just as I was considering taking the lemon knife and jamming it in his
arm, Tito came up. "Brad, dude," he said, "let me buy you a drink."
The music guy let go of me and the game was over. Tito gave me a quick
look and I tried to say thanks with my eyes. Now that's a cool boss, I
thought. Lucky girl.
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