One of the messages I received on my phone while I was in Mexico was from my old friend George, wanting to get together and catch up if possible. Just before my phone went dead (again), we made plans to meet up, and after work last night, I made my way into Dallas to see my old friend.
George is a big, bald teddy-bear of a man, who looks like he would pound you into the pavement if you looked at him the wrong way. He probably would, too, but for those he likes, you won't find a nicer guy. He's Latino, and I'm pretty sure his real name is Jorge, but he prefers (for some reason) to go by George, and so I can't bring myself to spell it any other way when I write about him. I know that's pedantic of me....okay, moving on...
Anyway, George was one of the security/bouncers at the last club where I worked, and we hit it off almost immediately. Me and other girls lobbied hard for him to work the VIP area, and so most nights, if he was working, he was watching our backs (literally) when we were in there. He was appropriately assholish to the guys when they got too handsy or acted like jerks, and even if he didn't know you well, he always seemed like your friend from the beginning. How many of those people do you know? No matter the number, aren't they priceless?
We went our separate ways a year ago; management changed, and those circumstances pushed both of us out of there. Since then, the place has really gone evil and downhill. I couldn't work another day in that place, and I feel bad for all the girls that stayed, knowing that there was one less knight there to defend them like George always did. I left the business completely, and George has since cobbled together security jobs wherever he can find them.
It's a surprise to nobody that being hired muscle doesn't always lead to the most savory of gigs, and he's amassed some interesting stories. But he keeps going, because in addition to just needing money to live, he's got a bigger purpose to fulfill. When he was a kid, his Dad ran a tire shop. When his Dad got the cancer*, he eventually had to quit working, leaving it to a cousin of his to run. The cousin was incompetent, and it went out of business a year later. Within that year's time, his Dad died.
Now, that building sits empty and half boarded up, as vagrants have pried a few of the boards off so they could take shelter there. It occurred to George several months ago that what he needed to do was re-open the tire shop. First, he enlisted help and erected a razor-wire fence around the property, then he started to clean out the building. He's almost got enough money saved up to replace the doors and windows, and then he'll start working on a business plan to actually open the shop.
Of course, the odds are stacked against George. First of all, he's never run a business before. Second, the neighborhood is not exactly upscale (we went to the tire shop last night at 1am. Believe me when I tell you, 'not exactly upscale' translates accurately in this case to 'potentially scary'.
But I think he'll make it work. It means everything to him, and for what it's worth, I'm going to put him in touch with somebody I know who is a very good businessperson. It won't guarantee success, but at least it would give him some good advice maybe. He asked if maybe I wouldn't mind joining him for a 'painting party' after he gets his new windows and doors installed. I would love to do that, and am going to get a few of the girls that I kept the numbers for, to come help, too.
This time, I'll have George's back for a change.
P.S. I finally had a successful de-tox day. :)
*I've decided to put 'the' in front of disease names, like old people still occasionally do. It just sounds better, and old-fashioned in a good way, while still sounding appropriately serious.
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