IT HAPPENS A lot. People come up and they squint and they get this determined look on their faces, and they say, "Are you the guy who works for the paper?"
When I'm off, I'm off. I will talk to people about work stuff, but most of the time I just want to leave it at the office.
The other night at a Cheeseburgers gig a gal approached me, called me a name I won't repeat, and said she "had a bone to pick" with me.
It can't end well. It can't. I politely told her to call me at the office. I really wanted to go Chef Robert Irvine from Restaurant Impossible on her. But I didn't.
She persisted. It was about "bullbleep" I was writing about a family member.
There is way, way, way more to this story. Way more. I can't go into it. Let's just say she was leaning to port and in the morning she'd be somewhat sober but still misguided.
So I wasn't going to win. Fortunately the next set was about to start.
You can't play when you are mad or distracted. You put it out of sight and mind. I thought, I'm not going to let somebody who has no freaking clue win. And that was that.
There's a place and time for everything. Let's talk, at that time.
We'll both feel better about it.