Elevator
July 5th, 2005One quick, weird story from Charlottesville: I get into the the elevator of our hotel, and a woman, mid-fifties, is in there. When the doors close, she says, “How are you?”
“Good,” I say, “How are you?”
“Good. You ever listen to country music?” she asks.
“Now and then.”
“You know that song, ‘Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy?”"
“I know it,” I say.
“What do you think of that song?”
“Mm, it’s not my favorite,” I reply.
“Well, that [word I can't make out, a name maybe?]‘s my son,” she says in an enthusiastic, proud and friendly tone. “He’s playing at the fourth of July special for CBS [or something like that].”
“Wow,” I say as the doors open and I get out, “Congratulations. I know the song’s doing really well.”
And the doors close. Isn’t that so weird? I met the mother of the guy who sings that God-awful song. But good for her, you know?
July 5th, 2005 at 11:51 pm
You should have punched her in the neck for unleashing that on the world.