When are you going to land

Goodbye Yellow Brick Road / Elton John










“Are you crazy?” He asked me, looking like I had four heads and just suggested we start eating puppies.



“Probably.” I answered with a shrug, “but I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”


“We can’t just walk in there and ask for money.”


“Why not?”


He paused for moment, clearly not having an answer to this, before he gave the ever useful retort. “Because we can’t.”


I tsked and shook my head. Without more hesitation I pulled on the heavy glass door. He could follow or not, at that point I didn’t care.






My request inside was met with the same kind of incredulous skepticism. I volleyed from person to person, repeating the same thing over and over until I was starting to get a headache.


“Look, just answer me.” I finally said, exasperated as I sat in a large office filled with what was supposed to appear as expensive dark wood furnishings. “I don’t care what the answer is, but your wasting my time. And I don’t have time to waste.”


The man behind the desk looked amused. He was somewhere in that nebulous age bracket of 30-something to 50-something. He was balding, but not quiet bald. Over weight, but not quiet fat. He could dress up to be quiet snappy or dressed down to be indigent. It was funny how malleable some people were in appearance.


At that moment, he looked rather neutral. He was a blank slate with black dress pants and white shirt, and a splash of color for his tie, but not too colorful. The tie was a deep blue. I liked the color, but not enough to stare at it for the afternoon.


“Well?” I asked.


“Okay.” He answered and the deal was done.