The Train Is Running Again.

So I’ll finally get the heck out of Dodge. If my posts are spotty for the next three weeks or so, you know why.

I got a terrific email from a reader a couple of days ago. His club from years ago sounds strangely familiar. Here is a somewhat redacted version:

Later in life, I ended up joining a private club. I had helped put together the parent company that ran the place. After chairing the board for a while, I eventually got a job with the company – and I tell you what, it *was* The Piranha Club. No booze, but we had a pool table and made lunch everyday, and had quite the cast of characters to go with it. Every morning it was the ladies’ gossip session, and every evening the men played cards. We had a guy come in so drunk he collapsed on the pool table and fell asleep. Back in the 60s, the same guy had held onto his comatose aunt’s hand to sign a check to himself, ran out to Vegas, and eventually returned here on account of betting big on the wrong team, with the wrong people. He drove all the way back with a car that didn’t have a license tag – just a plate with a picture of a duck on it. Every night at the latest motel, he would back his car in so it would face the road, then the next day he was off again… until finally he made it back here, and was so happy he didn’t bother to back the car in – and the car was promptly towed.

We had deals going down in the bathroom, and people setting the smoking room on fire because they never dumped the ashes from the trays. We had a holy-roller who was allowed to preach as a “group session” for the program, and yet always had the begging bowl out. He called himself “the prophet” and every time he asked me for money, I told him there was no profit in it. I don’t know if he ever got the joke. His wife wrecked the company van so many times they had to get a new one… always running into the concrete guards at the gas station (guess it was a really good thing they were there). We had a member rent out the apartment across the hall from him for about six months before anybody realized he was collecting the rent and wasn’t the landlord. Of course, there was always the little scams like selling all but empty food stamp cards or phone cards. I could list a whole bunch more stories, but eh, I’m sure you get the idea.

 

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