That time I worked with Bob Barker

Behind me a car stops short, screeches.

I jump a little and so does the man nearest me.

“That’ll wake you up,” I say.

He smiles and agrees. Everyone on this little stretch of sidewalk outside Pita Kitchen is ok.

“Watch this,” he says.

He walks up to a table of three young women. He says, “Barker’s Beauties! Where’s Bob Barker at?”

He turns to me, and for some reason I feel the need to explain that I am not Bob Barker.

Two of the women go back to eating. He focuses on his audience.

“So I’ll get right to the point,” he says. “I need $25,000. The reason is I’m trying to buy IBM.”

He explains his plan to buy IBM, speaking with rapid fire excitement. Eventually, his pitch hits pay dirt. The woman looks at him sideways, laughs.

“Ok, I’m not really going to buy IBM. That’s just a joke. Really, I just want to buy dinner.”

She gives him a dollar. He thanks her and wishes them all a goodnight.

As he passes me, he holds out his fist.

“Nice job, Bob.”

We pound.

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