reporting for the dream bar

I had just finished a version of “Stardust” when I noticed John Kerry and Teresa Heinz Kerry sitting at the corner table of the Dream Bar, where I hold forth most nights at the piano.

In the realm of the bar, we who work there play little a game. We try to guess the size of a customer’s tip. Dress and appearance don’t usually factor in. Someone who looks like a bum can drop a hundred into the tip jar.

I wouldn’t count on more than a crisp five dollar bill from the Senator. More likely it would be a twenty (so no one would see that he only put in five).

After my set, he came over an introduced himself and put the twenty in the jar.

“I’m John Kerry” His voice boomed.

“I served in Vietnam”

“Really? I did not know that.”

No, he didn’t say that. He was very complimentary and I could see that he was a jazz fan. Teresa started telling me something about a musician I never heard of before. She prattled on and on. I could not catch up with her.

The Anti-War Soldier and the Ketchup Queen were sloshed. They started giving me drinks. I don’t really drink so it would probably end with me puking on the rich liberals, or doing my Kerry imitation, (it’s so easy…Thurston Howell The Third) riffing on his buffoonery and the failure of every policy he has ever promoted.

I played my Movement card. Telling them that even though I was CPUSA, along with the rest of the Party, I have been voting Democrat since 2004. Back in the 90s, some of us supported Clinton because we liked Hillary, who was thought to be a Movement person at heart.

When Teresa went to the Ladies’ Room, Kerry bragged to me that not only did he used to be good friends with Angela Davis, he “hit that.”

The drinks and the snarky comments from the two about my people (conservatives) weren’t sitting well. Even though I was working at the Dream Bar, I didn’t have a driver like the Kerrys. I wanted to take a car service home instead of a taxi. So I asked them if they would like to contribute to The Palestinian Martyrs Fund.

They were aware that charities in the Muslim World prefer cash rather than checks or bank transfers. Their assistant gave me ten one hundred dollar bills.

I left them with the idea of rounding up Tea Party members and doling out some revolutionary justice. But they were too drunk to understand what I was saying. At that stage all drunks are the same. I had my fun and just wanted to get away from them.

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