Youth loose in the big city face a lot of challenges. There is the fact that hardly anybody on the streets knows or cares who you are. Then there are those prideful, arrogant, nattily-dressed young faggots at the Business Clearing Houses sending you out in your nice blue suit to be interviewed by a lot of ragged, run-down old carpet dealers in the slums.
But there are some good things too …. Meeting with the Printing and Advertising Specialties magnate who likes you enough to load you down with samples and send you out to sell his products …. on commission … but with the added perks of riding along with him from time to time as he crosses the country in his private airplane. Hearing the good news that your friend, a top executive at a laundry machine manufacturer, has agreed to co-sign for your first business loan.
Then there is the day that you finally scrounge enough cash to rent a small side-walk-side storefront as an office and hire your first secretary from the Business school down the street.
In a while, you find yourself attending the theater scene … differ after the performances …. Bib Jones Cafe …. great tender steaks, great wine ….good times ….The burlesque dancer that has agreed to have dinner with you embarrases you and the whole restaurant by digging a pair of her stage G-strings out of her purse, hoisting them into the air and loudly and proudly proclaiming, “I make them myself.”
The satisfaction of tipping the shoeshine guy a dollar for a 25-cent shine.
The thrill of enjoying lobster and drinks with the governor of a great Northwestern state and his entourage. The warm satisfaction of finding a State Representative of a different state that everybody knows stumbling drunk out of a night spot and being asked to help get him into his limo …. and being asked, “Please don’t tell anybody about this.”
The utter curiosity of watching the wildly-attired and colorfully coiffed transvestites outside the Burlesque theater. Some of them seemed to prefer flaming red hair. It was all new to me.
The embarrassment of parking in the private parking spot of a well-known and influential barrister in front of the horse barn that he owned at a local fair grounds … and being challenged about it. We later became the best of friends.
The sudden realization that you are not just a pasty-faced scrawny-assed kid in a suit anymore but that now there are people working for you.
Awakening years later to the fact that all this is nothing but fading memories now.
Still watching the trees grow.