“What brings you to our fine city?” the valet asked. He was the kind of man who never met a stranger. He wasn’t in a hurry to remove you from your car and keys. Upon meeting, you and the valet became fast, best friends. He popped the trunk and pulled the bags out.
“I’m here for the NAILBA Conference.”
“Woooh. You guys are filling this place up.” He thumbed at the entourage of serious looking guys in navy blazers and shined, leather shoes who pushed through the revolving door to the lobby of the Gaylord Texan.
“What do you guys do?”
“I’m a reporter, but the event is for the insurance industry.”
“Hmmm. Okay. Okay,” he scratched at the salt that dotted his beard. “Everybody needs insurance. That’s for sure.”
“You talk like that and one of these guys will offer you a job.”
“Hah,” his laugh boomed, a verbal chop he delivered with the force of a karate expert breaking blocks of ice.
Another group of insurance men pushed past, broad shouldered guys with square jaws who headed straight for the bar.
“Where are you from?” the valet asked.
“Denver,” I said.
“Denver—the mile high city. You a Broncos fan?”
“Woo. You got a quarterback there.”
“Hah,” his laugh boomed again. “He’s the GOAT, man. The GOAT.”
“Greatest of all time.”
“He might need another Super Bowl or two to make that claim.”
“Hah,” his laugh once again threatened the air. After handing off the bags, the valet bid his farewell and turned to the next car to service and welcome his newest best friend.