a good job

Thirty-one years ago I had a job washing dishes in a Tex-Mex restaurant in Tucson called Woody Mercer’s Cowboy Lounge. It was one of the most entertaining jobs I ever had. Everybody else in the kitchen spoke Spanish, which I didn’t understand, all the time. The barbeque was super good. A couple or three of the waitresses were very pretty, and the hostess was a knockout. I still remember her high-heel boots. Woody Mercer himself played guitar and sang country.

I worked nights; it’s wonderful being in Tucson at least after the unbelievable Tucson sun sets. A few times when I was at work I was almost perfectly happy.

motels, love, pleasure

Reading this (also this) makes me think about hotels and motels, and all the transient joy that has come and gone in them.

Whenever I see a hotel or motel that’s more than a couple years old, especially those little roadside ones we’ve got here in Florida, I always think, if even one percent of the love and pleasure gotten in those rooms were retained in the rooms, and if love and pleasure were somehow visible in some ultra-violet spectrum, then ultra-violet-perceiving aliens on Alpha Centauri should be able to see that hotel or motel with the naked eye.