A Love Story
Tonight, for New Year’s Eve, December 31st 2017 my wife and I decided to spend the night at The Ventana Canyon Resort Canyon Hotel in Tucson Arizona. The Ventana Canyon is a five-star resort hotel with two golf courses that my wife and I have played many times. I’m not bragging, but the room for the night was $325.00
We arrived at about 6:00 PM, checked in and went directly to the bar. I gave the bus boy a tip to take our one piece of luggage to our room.
Whenever I go to a bar on New Year’s Eve I ask who will be my bartender. Tonight, it was Christine. A black girl who had no experience in tending bar. Having been in the bar business that’s actually not OK with me, but the first thing I do is give her a $100.00 tip. I then say, as I would to a male bartender, “This is yours to start with and please make sure you take care of us tonight.” She agreed and we started our night.
We had arrived early and decided to have dinner at the bar instead of the dining room at the hotel. I had a New York Steak and my wife had some other thing I can’t pronounce. My steak was about two inches thick on a bed of mashed potatoes with roasted tomatoes, grilled onions and grilled mushrooms. It was perfect. We finished eating around 7:00 PM and ordered our first drink.
When I arrive at a hotel like Ventana Canyon or in Las Vegas I’m considered a VIP and they treat me as such. While at the bar they texted this to me.
Whether or not I am can be left for another discussion, but as the night passed we met a lot of people and I ended up talking to a guy from Pakistan. He amazed me because he would not drink any booze. He said would not smoke or do anything against Mohammed. He only drank a cup of coffee. I wondered why.
I asked him if he agreed with our president withholding money to Pakistan and he wouldn’t answer me.
As I got to know this guy I decided he was not of American stock so I texted the hotel my concern about him. Better safe than sorry.
They responded with,
Because I wasn’t sure about him I answered, No.
As the night passes I get to know this guy more and try to get him to gamble with me. I know many bar games that I usually save for the bartenders, but he was a Mohammed guy and they don’t gamble.
I started by asking the bartenders to play what I call, “Pick a napkin.” I laid out six napkins and under each one I put a $100, a $50, a $20 and three $1-dollar bills.’ I usually do this as present, but I knew he was watching. I ended up giving one $50, a $20, a $10 and three $1 to the staff. As I gambled the Pakistani was watching. I asked him if he would like to play another game I call Quarters.
In Quarters you stack about ten to fifteen quarters, after shaking them and the pony up $1 dollar in the pot to bet. You can bet any amount of the pot and just guess if the next coin will be a head or tail. If you win you take out what you bet and if you lose you put in what you bet. If you bet the pot and win everyone pony’s up another buck. The main thing was I got Mohammed to gamble so I relaxed about him.
He won a couple bucks and eventually left.
While all this was going on my wife meets other women and they end up dancing with each other. Like it or not, women do that kind of thing because they are women.
To me watching them dance is a wonderful thing and as the night passed we both were having a great time. I even got up a danced a couple.
Then at about 11:45 my wife said, “Papa, let’s go home.”
I asked, “What?”
She said, “Let’s go home, I don’t want to stay at a hotel tonight.”
As usual, whatever she thinks I do and I immediately went to the hotel desk and told them we were leaving. They automatically responded with, I was going to lose my money for the night. I said fine and called Uber. We left our car there.
On the way home, when it struck midnight my wife looked at me and said, “Happy New Year Papa,” and then kissed me. She said again she just wanted to go home.
We got home and loved each other for a while and she’s in bed right now as I type this and I’m here thanking God for what he gave us. He gave us women and he gave me her.
My God, do I love this woman.
If this isn’t a love story, there aren’t any.